)awn  and  the  Day  aX* 

^_ 

VuJ? 

a  and  the  Christ. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


OR 

THE  BUDDHA 
AND  THE  CHRIST 


PART  I 


BY 

HENRY    T.    NILES 


1894 


Copyright,   1894, 
BY  HENRY  T.  NILES. 
All  rights  reserved. 


PREFACE. 


WHEN  Humboldt  first  ascended  the  Andes  and 
saw  the  trees,  shrubs  and  flora  he  had  long-  before 
studied  on  the  Alps,  he  had  only  to  look  at  his  ba 
rometer,  or  at  the  sea  of  mountains  and  hills  below, 
the  rocks  and  soil  around,  and  the  sun  above,  to  un 
derstand  this  seeming-  marvel  of  creation  ;  while 
those  who  knew  less  of  the  laws  of  order  and  uni 
versal  harmony  mig-ht  be  lost  in  conjectures  about 
pollen  floating-  in  the  upper  air,  or  seeds  carried  by 
birds  across  seas,  forgetting1  that  preservation  is 
perpetual  creation,  and  that  it  takes  no  more  power 
to  clothe  a  mountain  just  risen  from  the  sea  in  ap 
propriate  verdure  than  to  renew  the  beauty  and  the 
bloom  of  spring-. x 

Max  Mueller,  who  looks  through  antiquity  with 
the  same  clear  vision  with  which  Humboldt  ex 
amined  the  physical  world,  when  he  found  the  most 
ancient  Hindoos  bowing-  in  worship  before  Dyaus 
Pitar,  the  exact  equivalent  of  the  Zeus  Pater  of  the 
Greeks  and  the  Jupiter  of  the  Romans,  and  of  "Our 
Father  who  art  in  the  heavens"  in  our  own  divinely 
taught  prayer,  instead  of  indulging  in  wild  specu 
lations  about  the  chance  belief  of  some  ancient 


759832 


viii  PREFACE. 

chief  or  patriarch,  transmitted  across  continents 
and  seas  and  even  across  the  great  gulf  that  has 
always  divided  the  Aryan  from  the  Semitic  civiliza 
tion  and  preserved  through  ages  of  darkness  and 
unbelief,  saw  in  it  the  common  yearning  of  the  hu 
man  soul  to  find  rest  on  a  loving  Father's  almighty 
arm ;  yet  when  our  oriental  missionaries  and 
scholars  found  such  fundamental  truths  of  their 
own  religion  as  the  common  brotherhood  of  man, 
and  that  love  is  the  vital  force  of  all  religion,  which 
consists  not  in  blood-oblations  or  in  forms  and 
creeds,  but  in  shunning  evil  and  doing  good,  and 
that  we  must  overcome  evil  by  good  and  hatred  by 
love,  and  that  there  is  a  spiritual  world  and  life 
after  death  embodied  in  the  teachings  of  Buddha  — 
instead  of  finding  in  this  great  fact  new  proof  of 
the  common  Father's  love  for  all  His  children,  they 
immediately  began  to  indulge  in  conjectures  as  to 
how  these  truths  might  have  been  derived  from  the 
early  Christians  who  visited  the  East,  while  those 
who  were  disposed  to  reject  the  claims  of  Christian 
ity  have  exhausted  research  and  conjecture  to  find 
something  looking  as  if  Christianity  itself  might 
have  been  derived  from  the  Buddhist  missionaries 
to  Palestine  and  Egypt,  both  overlooking  the  re 
markable  fact  that  it  is  only  in  fundamental  truths 
that  the  two  religions  agree,  while  in  the  dogmas, 
legends,  creeds  and  speculations  which  form  the 
wall  of  separation  between  them  they  are  as  wide 
asunder  as  the  poles. 

How  comes  it  on  the  one  theory  that  the  Nesto- 


PREFACE.  ix 

rians,  whose  peculiar  creed  had  already  separated 
them  from  the  balance  of  the  Christian  church  t 
taught  their  Buddhist  disciples  no  part  of  that  creed 
to  which  they  have  adhered  with  such  tenacity 
through  the  ages  ?  And  on  the  other  theory,  how 
comes  it,  if  the  Divine  Master  was,  as  some  modern 
writers  claim,  an  Essene,  that  is,  a  Buddhist  monk, 
that  there  is  not  in  all  his  teachings  a  trace  of  the 
speculations  and  legends  which  had  already  buried 
the  fundamental  truths  of  Buddhism  almost  out  of 
sight  ? 

How  sad  to  hear  a  distinguished  Christian  scholar 
like  Sir  Monier  Williams  cautioning  his  readers 
against  giving  a  Christian  meaning  to  the  Chris 
tian  expressions  he  constantly  met  with  in  Bud 
dhism,  and  yet  informing  them  that  a  learned  and 
distinguished  Japanese  gentleman  told  him  it  was 
a  source  of  great  delight  to  him  to  find  so  many 
of  his  most  cherished  religious  beliefs  in  the 
New  Testament ;  and  to  see  an  earnest  Christian 
missionary  like  good  Father  Hue,  when  in  the  busy 
city  of  Lha-ssa,  on  the  approach  of  evening,  at  the 
sound  of  a  bell  the  whole  population  sunk  on  their 
knees  in  a  concert  of  prayer,  only  finding  in  it  an 
attempt  of  Satan  to  counterfeit  Christian  worship'; 
and  on  the  other  hand  to  see  ancient  and  modern 
learning  ransacked  to  prove  that  the  brightest  and 
clearest  light  that  ever  burst  upon  a  sinful  and  be 
nighted  world  was  but  the  reflected  rays  of  another 
faith. 


x  PREFACE. 

And  yet  this  same  Sir  Monier  Williams  says  : 
"  We  shall  not  be  far  wrong-  in  attempting-  an  out 
line  of  the  Buddha's  life  if  we  beg-in  by  assuming- 
that  intense  individuality,  fervid  earnestness  and 
severe  simplicity,  combined  with  singular  beauty 
of  countenance,  calm  dig-nity  of  bearing-,  and  al 
most  superhuman  persuasiveness  of  speech,  were 
conspicuous  in  the  great  teacher."  To  believe  that 
such  a  character  was  the  product  of  a  false  religion, 
or  that  he  was  given  over  to  believe  a  lie,  savors 
too  much  of  that  worst  agnosticism  which  would 
in  effect  deny  the  universality  of  God's  love  and 
would  limit  His  care  to  some  favored  locality  or  ag-e 
or  race. 

How  much  more  in  harmony  with  the  broad  phi 
losophy  of  such  men  as  Humboldt  and  Mueller,  and 
with  the  character  of  a  loving-  Father,  to  believe 
that  at  all  times  and  in  all  countries  He  has  been 
watching-  over  all  His  children  and  giving-  them  all 
the  light  they  were  capable  of  receiving-. 

This  narrow  view  is  especially  out  of  place  in 
treating-  of  Buddhism  and  Christianity,  as  Buddha 
himself  predicted  that  his  Dharma  would  last  but 
five  hundred  years,  when  he  would  be  succeeded  by 
Matreya,  that  is,  Love  incarnate,  on  which  account 
the  whole  Buddhist  world  was  on  tiptoe  of  expecta 
tion  at  the  time  of  the  coming  of  our  Lord,  so  that 
the  wise  men  of  the  East  were  not  only  following- 
their  g-uiding--star  but  the  prediction  of  their  own 
great  prophet  in  seeking-  Bethlehem. 


PREFACE.  xi 

Had  the  Christian  missionaries  to  the  East  left 
behind  them  their  creeds,  which  have  only  served 
to  divide  Christians  into  hostile  sects  and  some 
times  into  hostile  camps,  and  which  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  after  years  of  patient  study,  have  no  necessary 
connection  with  the  simple,  living1  truths  taught  by 
our  Saviour,  and  had  taken  only  their  New  Testa 
ments  and  their  earnest  desire  to  do  good,  the  his 
tory  of  missions  would  have  been  widely  different. 

How  of  the  earth  earthy  seemed  the  walls  that 
divided  the  delegates  to  the  world's  great  Congress 
of  Religions,  recently  held  in  Chicago,  and  how 
altogether  divine 

The  love  which  like  an  endless  golden  chain 
Joined  all  in  one. 

Whatever  others  may  think,  it  is  my  firm  belief 
that  Buddhism  and  Christianity,  which  we  can 
not  doubt  have  influenced  for  good  such  vast  masses 
the  human  family,  both  descended  from  heaven 
clothed  in  robes  of  celestial  purity  which  have  be 
come  sadly  stained  by  their  contact  with  the  selfish 
ness  of  a  sinful  world,  except  for  which  belief  the 
following  pages  would  never  have  been  written, 
which  are  now  sent  forth  in  the  hope  that  they  may 
do  something  to  enable  Buddhists  and  Christians 
to  see  eye  to  eye  and  something  to  promote  peace 
and  good-will  among  men. 

While  following  my  own  conceptions  and  even 
fancies  in  many  things,  I  believe  the  leading  char- 


xii  PREFACE. 

acters  and  incidents  to  be  historical,  and  I  have 
given  nothing-  as  the  teaching-  of  the  great  mas 
ter  which  was  not  to  my  mind  clearly  authenticated. 

To  those  who  have  read  so  much  about  agnostic 
Buddhism,  and  about  Nirvana  meaning-  annihila 
tion,  it  may  seem  bold  in  me  to  present  Buddha  as 
an  undoubting  believer  in  the  fundamental  truths 
of  all  religion,  and  as  not  only  a  believer  in  a  spirit 
ual  world  but  an  actual  visitor  to  its  sad  and  bliss 
ful  scenes  ;  but  the  only  agnosticism  I  have  been 
able  to  trace  to  Buddha  was  a  want  of  faith  in  the 
many  ways  invented  throug-h  the  ages  to  escape  the 
consequences  of  sin  and  to  avoid  the  necessity  of 
personal  purification,  and  the  only  annihilation  he 
taught  and  yearned  for  was  the  annihilation  of  self 
in  the  hig-hest  Christian  sense,  and  escape  from 
that  body  of  death  from  which  the  Apostle  Paul 
so  earnestly  sought  deliverance. 

Doubtless  ag-nosticism  and  almost  every  form  of 
belief  and  unbelief  subsequently  sprang  up  among- 
the  intensely  acute  and  speculative  peoples  of  the 
East  known  under  the  general  name  of  Buddhists, 
as  they  did  among-  the  less  acute  and  speculative 
peoples  of  the  West  known  as  Christians  ;  but  the 
one  is  no  more  primitive  Buddhism  than  the  other 
is  primitive  Christianity. 

While  there  are  innumerable  poetic  legends — of 
which  Spence  Hardy's  "Manual  of  Buddhism"  is 
a  great  storehouse,  and  many  of  which  are  given 
by  Arnold  in  his  beautiful  poem — strewn  thick  along- 


PREFACE.  xiii 

the  track  of  Buddhist  literature,  constantly  tempt 
ing-  one  to  leave  the  straight  path  of  the  develop 
ment  of  a  great  religion,  I  have  carefully  avoided 
what  did  not  commend  itself  to  my  mind  as  either 
historical  or  spiritual  truth. 

It  was  my  original  design  to  follow  the  wonder 
ful  career  of  Buddha  until  his  long-  life  closed  with 
visions  of  the  g-olden  city  much  as  described  in  Reve 
lation,  and  then  to  follow  that  most  wonderful 
career  of  Buddhist  missions,  not  only  throug-h  In 
dia  and  Ceylon,  but  to  Palestine,  Greece  and  Egypt, 
and  over  the  table-lands  of  Asia  and  throug-h  the 
Chinese  Empire  to  Japan,  and  thence  by  the  black 
stream  to  Mexico  and  Central  America,  and  then  to 
follow  the  wise  men  of  the  East  until  the  Lag-lit  of 
the  world  dawned  on  them  on  the  plains  of  Bethle 
hem — a  task  but  half  accomplished,  which  I  shall 
yet  complete  if  life  and  streng-th  are  spared. 

A  valued  literary  friend  sug-g-ests  that  the  social 
life  described  in  the  following-  pag-es  is  too  much 
like  ours,  but  why  should  their  daily  life  and  social 
customs  be  greatly  different  from  ours  ?  The 
Aryan  migrations  to  India  and  to  Europe  were  in 
larg-e  masses,  of  course  taking-  their  social  customs, 
or  as  the  Romans  would  say,  their  household  g"ods, 
with  them. 

What  wonder,  then,  that  the  home  as  Tacitus  de 
scribes  it  in  the  "Wilds  of  Germany"  was  sub 
stantially  what  Mueller  finds  from  the  very  struc 
ture  of  the  Sanscrit  and  European  lang-uag-es 


xiv  PREFACE. 

it  must  have  been  in  Bactria,  the  common  cradle  of 
the  Aryan  race.  There  can  scarcely  be  a  doubt 
that  twenty-five  hundred  years  ago  the  daily  life 
and  social  customs  in  the  north  of  India,  which  had 
been  under  undisputed  Ar}-an  control  long-  enough 
for  the  Sanscrit  language  to  spring-  up,  come  to 
perfection  and  finally  become  obsolete,  were  more 
like  ours  than  like  those  of  modern  India  after  the 
many  —  and  especially  the  Mohammedan  —  con 
quests  and  after  centuries  of  oppression  and  alien 
rule. 

If  a  thousand  English-speaking-  Aryans  should 
now  be  placed  on  some  distant  island,  how  much 
would  their  social  customs  and  even  amusements 
differ  from  ours  in  a  hundred  years  ?  Only  so  far 
as  changed  climate  and  surroundings  compelled. 

I  give  as  an  introduction  an  outline  of  the  golden, 
silver,  brazen  and  iron  ages,  as  described  by  the 
ancient  poets  and  believed  in  by  all  antiquity,  as  it 
was  in  the  very  depths  of  the  darkness  of  the  iron 
age  that  our  great  light  appeared  in  Northern  In 
dia.  The  very  denseness  of  the  darkness  of  the  age 
in  which  he  came  makes  the  clearness  of  the  light 
more  wonderful,  and  accounts  for  the  joy  with 
which  it  was  received  and  the  rapidity  with  which 
it  spread. 

Not  to  enter  into  the  niceties  of  chronological 
questions,  the  mission  of  Buddha  may  be  roughly 
said  to  have  commenced  about  five  hundred  years 
before  the  commencement  of  our  era,  and  with  in- 


PREPACK.  xv 

cessant  labors  and  long-  and  repeated  journeys  to 
have  lasted  forty-five  years,  when  at  about  the  age 
of  eighty  he  died,  or,  as  the  Buddhists  more  truth 
fully  and  more  beautifully  say,  entered  Nirvana. 

HENRY  T.  NILES. 
TOLEDO,  January  1,  1894. 


Since  this  work  was  in  the  hands  of  the  printer 
I  have  read  the  recent  work  of  Bishop  Copelston, 
of  Columbo,  Ceylon,  and  it  was  a  source  of  no 
small  gratification  to  find  him  in  all  material 
points  agreeing-  with  the  result  of  my  somewhat 
extensive  investigations  as  given  within,  for  in 
Ceylon,  if  anywhere,  we  would  expect  accuracy. 
Here  the  great  Buddhist  development  first  comes  in 
contact  with  authentic  history  during  the  third  cen 
tury  B.  C.  in  the  reign  of  the  great  Asoka,  the  dis 
covery  of  whose  rock  inscriptions  shed  such  a  flood 
of  light  on  primitive  Buddhism,  while  it  still  re 
tained  enough  of  its  primitive  power,  as  we  learn 
from  those  inscriptions  themselves,  to  turn  that 
monarch  from  a  course  of  cruel  tyranny,  and,  as 
we  learn  from  the  history  of  Ceylon,  to  induce  his 
son  and  daughter  to  abandon  royalty  and  become 
the  first  missionaries  to  that  beautiful  island. 

H.  T.  N. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  golden  age  —  when  men  were  brothers  all, 
The  golden  rule  their  law  and  God  their  king ; 
When  no  fierce  beasts  did  through  the  forests  roam, 
Nor  poisonous  reptiles  crawl  upon  the  ground; 
When  trees  bore  only  wholesome,  luscious  fruits, 
And  thornless  roses  breathed  their  sweet  perfumes; 
When  sickness,  sin  and  sorrow  were  unknown, 
And  tears  but  spoke  of  joy  too  deep  for  words  ; 
When  painless  death  but  led  to  higher  life, 
A  life  that  knows  no  end,  in  that  bright  world 
Whence  angels  on  the  ladder  Jacob  saw, 
Descending,  talk  with  man  as  friend  to  friend  — 
That  age  of  purity  and  peace  had  passed, 
But  left  a  living  memory  behind, 
Cherished  and  handed  down  from  sire  to  son 
Through  all  the  scattered  peoples  of  the  earth, 
A  living  prophecy  of  what  this  world, 
This  sad  and  sinful  world,  might  yet  become. 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

The  silver  age — an  age  of  faith,  not  sight  — 
Came  next,  when  reason  ruled  instead  of  love ; 
When  men  as  through  a  glass  but  darkly  saw 
What  to  their  fathers  clearly  stood  revealed 
In  God's  own  light  of  love-illumined  truth, 
Of  which  the  sun  that  rising-  paints  the  east, 
And  whose  last  rays  with  glory  gild  the  west, 
Is  but  an  outbirth.     Then  were  temples  reared, 
And  priests  'mid  clouds  of  incense  sang-  His  praise 
Who  out  of  densest  darkness  called  the  light, 
And  from  His  own  unbounded  fullness  made 
The  heavens  and  earth  and  all  that  in  them  is. 
Then  landmarks  were  first  set,  lest  men  contend 
For  God's  free  gifts,  that  all  in  peace  had  shared. 
Then  laws  were  made  to  govern  those  whose  sires 
Were  laws  unto  themselves.     Then  sickness  came, 
And  grief  and   pain  attended  men   from   birth  to 

death. 

But  still  a  silver  light  lined  every  cloud, 
And  hope  was  given  to  cheer  and  comfort  men. 

The  brazen  age,  brilliant  but  cold,  succeeds. 
This  was  an  age  of  knowledge,  art  and  war, 
When  the  knights-errant  of  the  ancient  world, 
Adventures  seeking,  roamed  with  brazen  swords 
Which  b}-  a  wondrous  art  —  then  known,  now  lost  — 
Were  hard  as  flint,  and  edged  to  cut  a  hair 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

Or  cleave  in  twain  a  warrior  armor-clad 
And  armed  with  shields  adorned  by  Vulcan's  art, 
Wonder  of  coming  times  and  theme  for  bards.* 
Then  science  searched  through   nature's  heights 

and  depths. 

Heaven's  canopy  thick  set  with  stars  was  mapped, 
The  constellations  named,  and  all  the  laws  searched 

out 

That  guide  their  motions,  rolling  sphere  on  sphere.f 
Then  men  by  reasonings  piled  up  mountain  high 
Thought  to  scale  heaven,  and  to  dethrone  heaven's 

king, 

Whose  imitators  weak,  with  quips  and  quirks 
And  ridicule  would  now  destroy  all  sacred  things. 
This  age  great  Homer  and  old  Hesiod  sang, 
And  gods  they  made  of  hero,  artist,  bard. 

At  length  this  twilight  of  the  ages  fades, 
And  starless  night  now  sinks  upon  the  world  — 
An  age  of  iron,  cruel,  dark  and  cold. 
On  Asia  first  this  outer  darkness  fell, 
Once  seat  of  paradise,  primordial  peace, 
Perennial  harmony  and  perfect  love. 
A  despot's  will  was  then  a  nation's  law  ; 

*  See  Hesiod's  description  of  the  shield  of  Hercules,  the   St    George 
of  that  ancient  age  of  chivalry. 

t   See    the    celebrated    zodiac    of    Denderah,    given    in    Landseer's 
"  Sabaean  Researches,"  and  in  Napoleon's  "  Egypt." 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

An  idol's  car  crushed  out  poor  human  lives, 

And  human  blood  polluted  many  shrines. 

Then  human  speculation  made  of  God 

A  shoreless  ocean,  distant,  waveless,  vast, 

Of  truth  that  sees  not  and  unfeeling-  love, 

Whence  souls  as  drops  were  taken  back  to  fall, 

Absorbed  and  lost,  when,  countless  ages  passed, 

They  should  complete  their  round  as  souls  of  men, 

Of  beasts,  of  birds  and  of  all  creeping-  thing's. 

And,  even  worse,  the  cruel  iron  castes, 

One  caste  too  holy  for  another's  touch, 

Had  every  human  aspiration  crushed, 

The  common  brotherhood  of  man  destroyed, 

And  made  all  men  but  Pharisees  or  slaves. 

And  worst  of  all  —  and  what  could  e'en  be  worse  ?  — 

Woman,  bone  of  man's  bone,  flesh  of  his  flesh, 

The  equal  partner  of  a  double  life, 

Who  in  the  world's  best  days  stood  by  his  side 

To  lig-hten  every  care,  and  heighten  every  joy, 

And  in  the  world's  decline  still  clung-  to  him, 

She  only  true  when  all  beside  were  false, 

When  all  were  cruel  she  alone  still  kind, 

Light  of  his  hearth  and  mistress  of  his  home, 

Sole  spot  where  peace  and  joy  could  still  be  found  — 

Woman  herself  cast  down,  despised  was  made 

Slave  to  man's  luxury  and  brutal  lust. 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

Then  war  was  rapine,  havoc,  needless  blood, 

Infants  impaled  before  their  mothers'  eyes, 

Women  dishonored,  mutilated,  slain, 

Parents  but  spared  to  see  their  children  die. 

Then  peace  was  but  a  faithless,  hollow  truce, 

With  plots  and  counter-plots  ;  the  dagger's  point 

And  poisoned  cup  instead  of  open  war  ; 

And  life  a  savage,  grim  conspiracy 

Of  mutual  murder,  treachery  and  greed. 

O  dark  and  cruel  age  !     O  cruel  creeds  ! 

O  cruel  men  !     O  crushed  and  bleeding  hearts, 

That  from  the  very  ground  in  anguish  cry : 

"Is  there  no  light —  no  hope  —  no  help  —  no  God?" 


afon  anfr 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST. 


BOOK    I. 


Northward  from  Ganges'  stream  and  India's  plains 

An  ancient  city  crowned  a  loft}^  hill, 

Whose  high  embattled  walls  had  often  rolled 

The  surging-,  angry  tide  of  battle  back. 

Walled  on  three  sides,  but  on  the  north  a  cliff, 

At  once  the  city's  quarry  and  its  guard. 

Cut  out  in  galleries,  with  vaulted  roofs* 

Upborne  upon  Cyclopean  columns  vast, 

Chiseled  with  art,  their  capitals  adorned 

With  lions,  elephants,  and  bulls,  life  size, 

Once  dedicate  to  many  monstrous  gods 

*Lientenant-General  Brings,  in  his  lectures  on  the  aboriginal  races 
of  India,  says  the  Hindoos  themselves  refer  the  excavation  of  caves 
and  temples  to  the  period  of  the  aboriginal  king's. 

(7) 


8  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Before  the  Aryan  race  as  victors  came, 
Then  prisons,  granaries  and  magazines, 
Now  only  known  to  bandits  and  wild  beasts. 
This  cliff,  extending-  at  each  end,  bends  north, 
And  rises  in  two  mountain-chains  that  end 
In  two  vast  snow-capped  Himalayan  peaks, 
Between  which  runs  a  glittering  glacial  stream, 
A  mighty  moving  mass  of  crystal  ice, 
Crushing  the  rocks  in  its  resistless  course  ; 
From  which  bursts  forth  a  river  that  had  made 
Of  all  this  valley  one  great  highland  lake, 
Which  on  one  side  had  burst  its  bounds  and  cut 
In  myriad  years  a  channel  through  the  rock, 
So  narrow  that  a  goat  might  almost  leap 
From  cliff  to  cliff — these  cliffs  so  smooth  and  steep 
The  eagles  scarce  could  build  upon  their  sides ; 
This  yawning  chasm  so  deep  one  scarce  could  hear 
The  angry  waters  roaring  far  below. 

This  stream,  guided  by  art,  now  fed  a  lake 
Above  the  city  and  behind  this  cliff, 
Which,  guided  thence  in  channels  through  the  rock, 
Fed  many  fountains,  sending  crystal  streams 
Through  every  street  and  down  the  terraced  hill, 
And  through  the  plain  in  little  silver  streams, 
Spreading  the  richest  verdure  far  and  wide.* 
Here  was  the  seat  of  King  Suddhodana, 
His  royal  park,  walled  by  eternal  hills, 

*The  art  of  irrigation,  once  practiced  on  such  a  mig-hty  scale,  now 
seems  practically  a  lost  art  but  just  now  being'  revived  on  our  western 
plains. 


THK    BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST— BOOK  I.  9 

Where  trees  and  shrubs  and  flowers  all  native  grew  ; 
For  in  its  bounds  all  the  four  seasons  met, 
From  ever-laughing,  ever-blooming-  spring- 
To  savag-e  winter  with  eternal  snows. 
Here  stately  palms,  the  banyan's  many  trunks, 
Darkening-  whole  acres  with  its  grateful  shade, 
And  bamboo  groves,  with  graceful  waving  plumes, 
The  champak,  with  its  fragrant  g-olden  flowers, 
Asokas,  one  bright  blaze  of  brilliant  bloom, 
The  mohra,  yielding-  food  and  oil  and  wine, 
The  sacred  sandal  and  the  spreading-  oak, 
The  mountain-loving-  fir  and  spruce  and  pine, 
And  giant  cedars,  grandest  of  them  all, 
Planted  in  ages  past,  and  thinned  and  pruned 
With  that  hig-h  art  that  hides  all  trace  of  art,* 
Were  placed  to  please  the  eye  and  show  their  form 
In  groves,  in  clumps,  in  jung-les  and  alone. 

Here  all  a  forest  seemed  ;  there  open  groves. 
With  vine-clad  trees,  vines  hanging-  from  each  limb, 
A  pendant  chain  of  bloom,  with  shaded  drives 
And  walks,  with  rustic  seats,  cool  grots  and  dells, 
With  fountains  playing-  and  with  babbling-  brooks, 
And  stately  swans  sailing  on  little  lakes, 
While  peacocks,  rainbow-tinted  shrikes,  pheasants, 
Glittering-  like  precious  stones,  parrots,  and  birds 
Of  all  rich  plumage,  fly  from  tree  to  tree, 
The  whole  scene  vocal  with  sweet  varied  song- ; 


"  And,  that  which  all  faireworkes  doth  most  ayg: race, 
The  art,  which  all  that  wrought,  appeared  in  no  place." 

—Faerie  Queene,  B.  2,  Canto  12. 


10  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

And  here  a  widespread  lawn  bedecked  with  flowers, 

With  clumps  of  brilliant  roses  grown  to  trees, 

And  fields  with  dahlias  spread,*  not  stiff  and  prim 

Like  the  starched  ruffle  of  an  ancient  dame, 

But  growing  in  luxuriance  rich  and  wild. 

The  colors  of  the  evening  and  the  rainbow  joined, 

White,  scarlet,  j^ellow,  crimson,  deep  maroon. 

Blending  all  colors  in  one  dazzling  blaze  ; 

There  orchards  bend  beneath  their  luscious  loads; 

Here  vineyards  climb  the  hills  thick  sot  with  grapes; 

There  rolling  pastures  spread,  where  royal  mares. 

High  bred,  and  colts  too  young  for  bit  or  spur. 

Now  quiet  feed,  then,  as  at  trumpet's  call. 

With  lion  bounds,  tails  floating,  necks  outstretched, f 

Nostrils  distended,  fleet  as  the  flying  wind 

They  skim  the  plain,  and   sweep  in  circles   wide — 

Nature's  Olympic,  copied,  ne'er  excelled. 

Here,  deer  with  dappled  fawn  bound  o'er  the  grass, + 

And  sacred  herds,  and  sheep  with  skipping  lambs ; 

There,  great  white  elephants  in  quiet  nooks  ; 

While  high  on  cliffs  framed  in  with  living  green 

Goats  climb  and  seem  to  hang  and  feed  in  air — 

Sweet  spot,  with  all  to  please  and  nothing  to  offend. 


*  See  Miss  Gordon  Cuniiiiinjr's  descriptions  of  the  fields  of  wild 
dahlias  in  Northern  India. 

t  By  far  the  finest  display  of  the  mettle  and  blood  of  high-bred  horses 
I  have  ever  seen  has  been  in  the  pasture  field,  and  this  description  is 
drawn  from  life 

t  Once,  coming  upon  a  little  prairie  in  the  midst  of  a  great  forest,  I 
saw  a  herd  of  startled  deer  bound  over  the  grass,  a  scene  never  to  be 
forgotten. 


THE    BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  I.  11 

Here  on  a  hill  the  royal  palace  stood, 
A  gem  of  art ;  and  near,  another  hill, 
Its  top  crowned  by  an  aged  ban}7an  tree, 
Its  sides  clad  in  strange  jyotismati  grass,* 
By  day  a  sober  brown,  but  in  the  night 
Glowing"  as  if  the  hill  were  all  aflame  — 
Twin  wonders  to  the  dwellers  in  the  plain, 
Their  guides  and  landmarks  day  and  night, 
This  glittering  palace  and  this  glowing  hill. 
Within,  above  the  palace  rose  a  tower, 
Which  memory  knew  but  as  the  ancient  tower, 
Foursquare  and  high,  an  altar  and  a  shrine 
On  its  broad  top,  where  burned  perpetual  fire, 
Emblem  of  boundless  and  eternal  love 
And  truth  that  knows  no  night,  no  cloud,  no  change, 
Long  since  gone  out,  with  that  most  ancient  faith 
In  one  great  Father,  source  of  life  and  light,  t 
Still  round  this  ancient  tower,  strange   hopes  and 

fears, 

And  memories  handed  down  from  sire  to  son, 
Were  clustered  thick.     An  army,  old  men  say, 
Once  camped  against  the  city,  when  strange  lights 
Burst  from  this  tower,  blinding  their  dazzled  eyes. 
They  fled  amazed,  nor  dared  to  look  behind. 
The  people  bloody  war  and  cruel  bondage  saw 
On  every  side,  and  they  at  peace  and  free, 
And  thought  a  power  to  save  dwelt  in  that  tower. 


*See  Miss  Gordon  Cumming-'s  description  of  a  hill  covered  with  thi» 
luminous  grass. 

t  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  fire-worship  of  the  East  is  the  re 
mains  of  a  true  but  larg-ely  emblematic  relig-ion. 


12  THE   DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

And  now  strange  prophecies  and  sayings  old 
Were  everywhere  rehearsed,  that  from  this  hill 
Should  come  a  king1  or  savior  of  the  world. 
Even  the  poor  dwellers  in  the  distant  plain 
Looked  up  ;  they  too  had  heard  that  hence  should 

come 

One  quick  to  hear  the  poor  and  strong  to  save. 
And  who  shall  dare  to  chide  their  simple  faith  ? 
This  humble  reverence  for  the  great  unknown 
Brings  men  near  God,  and  opens  unseen  worlds, 
Whence  comes  all  life,  and  where  all   power  doth 

dwell. 

Morning  and  evening  on  this  tower  the  king, 
Before  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun, 
Blindly,  but  in  his  father's  faith,  bowed  down. 
Then  he  would  rise  and  on  his  kingdom  gaze. 
East,  west,  hills  beyond  hills  stretched  far  away, 
Wooded,  terraced,  or  bleak  and  bald  and  bare, 
Till  in  dim  distance  all  were  leveled  lost. 
One  rich  and  varied  carpet  spread  far  south, 
Of  fields,  of  groves,  of  busy  cities  wrought, 
With  mighty  rivers  seeming  silver  threads  ; 
And  to  the  north  the  Himalayan  chain, 
Peak  beyond  peak,  a  wall  of  crest  and  crag, 
Ice  bound,  snow  capped,  backed  by  intensest  blue, 
Untrod,  immense,  that,  like  a  crystal  wall, 
In  myriad  varied  tints  the  glorious  light 
Of  rising  and  of  setting  sun  reflects  ; 
His  noble  city  lying  at  his  feet, 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST— BOOK  I.  13 

And  his  broad  park,  tinged  by  the  sun's  slant  rays 
A  thousand  softly  rich  and  varied  shades. 

Still  on  this  scene  of  grandeur,  plenty,  peace 
And  ever-varying1  beauty,  he  would  gaze 
With  sadness.     He  had  heard  these  prophecies, 
And  felt  the  unrest  in  that  great  world  within, 
Hid  from  our  blinded  eyes,  yet  ever  near, 
The  very  soul  and  life  of  this  dead  world, 
Which  seers  and  prophets  open-eyed  have  seen, 
On  which  the  dying-  often  raptured  gaze, 
And  where  they  live  when  they  are  mourned  as  dead. 
This  world  was  now  astir,  foretelling  day. 
"  A  king  shall  come,  they  say,  to  rule  the  world, 
If  he  will  rule  ;  but  whence  this  mighty  king  ? 
My  years  decline  apace,  and  yet  no  son 
Of  mine  to  rule  or  light  my  funeral  pile." 

One  night  Queen  Maya,  sleeping  by  her  lord, 
Dreamed  a  strange  dream ;  she  dreamed  she  saw  a  star 
Gliding  from  heaven  and  resting  over  her; 
She  dreamed  she  heard  strange  music,  soft  and  sweet, 
So  distant  "joy  and  peace"  was  all  she  heard. 
In  joy  and  peace  she  wakes,  and  waits  to  know 
What  this  strange  dream  might  mean,  and  whence 
it  came. 

Drums,    shells   and   trumpets  sound  for  joy,  not 

war; 

The  streets  are  swept  and  sprinkled  with  perfumes, 
And  myriad  lamps  shine  from  each  house  and  tree, 


14  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OB 

And  myriad  flag's  flutter  in  every  breeze, 

And  children  crowned  with  flowers  dance  in  the 

streets, 

And  all  keep  universal  holiday 
With  shows  and  games,  and  laugh  and  dance  and 

song, 

For  to  the  gentle  queen  a  son  is  born, 
To  King  Suddhodana  the  g-ood  an  heir. 

But  scarcely  had  these  myriad  lamps  gone  out, 
The  sounds  of  revelry  had  scarcely  died, 
When  coming  from  the  palace  in  hot  haste, 
One  cried,  "Maya,  the  gentle  queen,  is  dead." 
Then  mirth  was  changed  to  sadness,  joy  to  grief, 
For  all  had  learned  to  love  the  gentle  queen  — 
But  at  Siddartha's  birth  this  was  foretold. 

Among  the  strangers  bringing  gifts  from  far, 
There  came  an  ancient  sage — whence,  no  one  knew  — 
Age-bowed,  head  like  the  snow,  eyes  filmed  and 

white, 

So  deaf  the  thunder  scarcely  startled  him, 
Who  met  them,  as  they  said,  three  journeys  back, 
And  all  his  talk  was  of  a  new-born  king. 
Just  born,  to  rule  the  world  if  he  would  rule. 
He  was  so  gentle,  seemed  so  wondrous  wise, 
They  followed  him,  he  following,  he  said, 
A  light  they  could  not  see  ;  and  when  encamped, 
Morn,  noon  and  night  devoutly  would  he  pray, 
And  then  would  talk  for  hours,  as  friend  to  friend, 
With  questionings  about  this  new-born  king, 


THE    BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  I.  15 

Gazing-  intently  at  the  tent's  blank  wall, 
With  nods  and  smiles,  as  if  he  saw  and  heard, 
While  they  sit  lost  in  wonder,  as  one  sits 
Who  never  saw  a  telephone,  but  hears 
Unanswered  questions,  laughter  at  unheard  jests, 
And  sees  one  bid  a  little  box  good-by. 
And  when  they  came  before  the  king1,  they  saw. 
Laughing-  and  cooing-  on  its  mother's  knee, 
Picture  of  innocence,  a  sweet  young-  child  ; 
He  saw  a  mig-hty  prophet,  and  bowed  down 
Eight  times  in  reverence  to  the  very  ground, 
And  rising-  said,  "  Thrice  happy  house,  all  hail  ! 
This  child  would  rule  the  world,  if  he  would  rule, 
But  he,  too  good  to  rule,  is  born  to  save; 
But  Maya's  work  is  done,  the  devas  wait." 
But  when  they  sought  for  him,  the  sage  was  gone, 
Whence  come  or  whither  gone  none  ever  knew. 
Then  gentle  Maya  understood  her  dream. 
The  music  nearer,  clearer  sounds  ;  she  sleeps. 
But  when  the  funeral  pile  was  raised  for  her. 
Of  aloe,  sandal,  and  all  fragrant  woods, 
And  decked  with  flowers  and  rich  with  rare  per 
fumes, 

And  when  the  queen  was  gently  laid  thereon, 
As  in  sweet  sleep,  and  the  pile  set  aflame, 
The  king  cried  out  in  anguish  ;  when  the  sage 
Again  appeared,  and  gently  said,  "  Weep  not  I 
Seek  not,  O  king,  the  living  with  the  dead  ! 
'Tis  but  her  cast-off  garment,  not  herself, 
That  now  dissolves  in  air.     Thy  loved  one  lives, 


16  THE   DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Become  thy  deva,*  who  was  erst  thy  queen." 
This  said,  he  vanished,  and  was  no  more  seen. 

Now  other  hands  take  up  that  mother's  task. 
Another  breast  nurses  that  sweet  young1  child 
With  growing1  love  ;  for  who  can  nurse  a  child, 
Feel  its  warm  breath,  and  little  dimpled  hands, 
Kiss  its  soft  lips,  look  in  its  laughing"  eyes, 
Hear  its  low-cooing1  love-notes  soft  and  sweet. 
And  not  feel  something  of  that  miracle, 
A  mother's  love — so  old  yet  ever  new, 
Strong-er  than  death,  bravest  among1  the  brave, 
Gentle  as  brave,  watchful  both  night  and  day, 
That  never  changes,  never  tires  nor  sleeps. 
Whence  comes  this  wondrous  and  und}Ting  love  ? 
Whence  can  it  come,  unless  it  comes  from  heaven, 
Whose  life  is  love  —  eternal,  perfect  love  ! 

From  babe  to  boy,  from  boy  to  youth  he  grew, 
But  more  in  grace  and  knowledge  than  in  years. 
At  play  his  joyous  laugh  rang  loud  and  clear, 
His  foot  was  fleetest  in  all  boyish  games, 
And  strong  his  arm,  and  steady  nerve  and  eye, 
To  whirl  the  quoit  and  send  the  arrow  home; 
Yet  seeming  oft  to  strive,  he'd  check  his  speed 
And  miss  his  mark  to  let  a  comrade  win. 
In  fullness  of  young  life  he  climbed  the  cliffs 
Where  human  foot  had  never  trod  before. 
He  led  the  chase,  but  when  soft-eyed  gazelles 

*  The  difference  between   the    Buddhist   idea  of    a    deva    and    the 
Christian  idea  of  an  attendant  angel  is  scarcely  perceptible. 


THE    BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  I.  17 

Or  bounding1  deer,  or  any  harmless  thing, 

Came  in  the  range  of  his  unerring-  dart, 

He  let  them  pass  ;  for  why,  thoug-ht  he,  should  men 

In  wantonness  make  war  on  innocence  ? 

One  day  the  Prince  Siddartha  saw  the  grooms 
Gathered  about  a  stallion,  snowy  white, 
Descended  from  that  great  Nisaean  stock 
His  fathers  broug-ht  from  Iran's  distant  plain, 
Named  Kantaka.     Some  held  him  fast  with  chains 
Till  one  could  mount.     He,  like  a  lion  snared, 
Frantic  with  rag-e  and  fear,  did  fiercely  bound. 
They  cut  his  tender  mouth  with  bloody  bit, 
Beating-  his  foaming-  sides  until  the  Prince, 
Sterner  than  was  his  wont,  bade  them  desist, 
While  he  spoke  soothingly,  patted  his  head 
And  stroked  his  neck,  and  dropped  those  galling 

chains, 

When  Kantaka's  fierce  flaming  eyes  grew  mild, 
He  quiet  stood,  by  gentleness  subdued — 
Such  mighty  power  hath  gentleness  and  love — 
And  from  that  day  no  horse  so  strong  and  fleet, 
So  kind  and  true,  easy  to  check  and  guide, 
As  Kantaka,  Siddartha's  noble  steed. 

To  playmates  he  was  gentle  as  a  girl  ; 
Yet  should  the  strong  presume  upon  their  strength 
To  overbear  or  wrong  those  weaker   than  them 
selves, 

His  sturdy  arm  and  steady  eye  checked  them, 
And  he  would  gently  say,  "Brother,  not  so  ; 


18  THE   DAWN    AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Our  strength  was  given  to  aid  and  not  oppress.  " 

For  in  an  ancient  book  he  found  a  truth  - 

A  book  no  longer  read,  a  truth  forgot, 

Entombed  in  iron  castes,  and  buried  deep 

In  speculations  and  in  subtle  creeds  — 

That  men,  high,  low,  rich,   poor,  are  brothers  all,* 

Which,  pondered  much  in  his  heart's  fruitful  soil, 

Had  taken  root  as  a  great  living  truth 

That  to  a  might}'  doctrine  soon  would  grow, 

A  mighty  tree  to  heal  the  nations  with  its  leaves  — 

Like  some  small  grain  of  wheat,  appearing  dead, 

In  mummy-case  three  thousand  years  agof 

Securel}"  wrapped  and  sunk  in  Egypt's  tombs, 

Themselves  buried  beneath  the  desert  sands, 

Which  now  brought  forth,  and  planted  in  fresh  soil, 

And  watered  by  the  dews  and  rains  of  heaven, 

Shoots  up  and  yields  a  hundred-fold  of  grain, 

Until  in  golden  harvests  now  it  waves 

On  myriad  acres,  many  thousand  miles 

From  where  the  single  ancient  seed  had  grown. 

Thus  he  grew  up  with  all  that  heart  could  wish 
Or  power  command  ;  his  very  life  itself, 
So  fresh  and  young,  sound  body  with  sound  mind, 
The  living  fountain  of  perpetual  joy. 
Yet  he  would  often  sit  and  sadly  think 
Sad  thoughts  and  deep,  and  far  beyond  his  years  ; 

*The  Brahmans  claim  that  Buddba's  great  doctrine  of  universal 
brotherhood  was  taken  from  their  sacred  books  and  was  not  an  original- 
ity  of  Buddha,  as  his  followers  claim. 

tThe  Mediterranean  or  Egyptian  wheat  is  said  to  have  this  origin. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  I.  19 

How   sorrow   filled   the    world ;  how   thing's  were 

shared  — 

One  born  to  waste,  another  born  to  want ; 
One  for  life's  cream,  others  to  drain  its  dreg's ; 
One  born  a  master,  others  abject  slaves. 
And  when  he  asked  his  masters  to  explain, 
When  all  were  brothers,  how  such  thing's  could  be, 
They  gave  him  speculations,  fables  old, 
How  Brahni  first  Brahmans  made  to  think  for  all, 
And  then  Kshatriyas,  warriors  from  their  birth, 
Then  Sudras,  to  draw  water  and  hew  wood. 
"  But  why  should  one  for  others  think,  when  all 
Must  answer  for  themselves?     Why  brothers  fight? 
And  why  one  born  another's  slave,  when  all 
Might  serve  and  help  each  other?"  he  would  ask. 
But  they  could  only  answer  :  "  Never  doubt, 
For  so  the  holy  Brahmans  always  taught." 
Still  he  must  think,  and  as  he  thought  he  sighed, 
Not  for  his  petty  griefs  that  last  an  hour, 
But  for  the  bitter  sorrows  of  the  world 
That  crush  all  men,  and  last  from  age  to  age. 

The  good  old  king  saw  this — saw  that  the  prince, 
The  apple  of  his  eye,  dearer  than  life, 
Stately  in  form,  supple  and  strong  in  limb, 
Quick  to  learn  every  art  of  peace  and  war, 
Displaying  and  excelling  every  grace 
And  attribute  of  his  most  royal  line, 
Whom  all  would  follow  whereso'er  he  led, 
So  fit  to  rule  the  world  if  he  would  rule, 
Thought  less  of  ruling  than  of  saving  men. 


20  THE   DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

He  saw  the  glory  of  his  ancient  house 
Suspended  on  an  if  —  if  he  will  rule 
The  empire  of  the  world,  and  power  to  crush 
Those  cruel,  blood}^  king's  who  curse  mankind, 
And  power  to  make  a  universal  peace  ; 
If  not  this  high  career,  with  glory  crowned, 
Then  seeking-  truth  through  folly's  devious  ways ; 
By  self-inflicted  torture  seeking  bliss, 
And  by  self-murder  seeking  higher  life  ; 
On  one  foot  standing  till  the  other  pine, 
Arms  stretched  aloft,  fingers  grown  bloodless  claws, 
Or  else,  impaled  on  spikes,  with  festering  sores 
Covered  from  head  to  foot,  the  body  wastes 
With  constant  anguish  and  with  slow  decay.* 
"  Can  this  be  wisdom  ?     Can  such  a  life  be  good 
That  shuns  all  duties  lying  in  our  path  — 
Useless  to  others,  filled  with  grief  and  pain  ? 
Not  so  my  father's  god  teaches  to  live. 
Rising  each  morning  most  exact  in  time, 
He  bathes  the  earth  and  sky  with  rosy  light 
And  fills  all  nature  with  new  life  and  joy  ; 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion  calls  us  to  awake 
And  breathe  this  life  and  hear  the  bursts  of  song 
That  fill  each  grove,  inhale  the  rich  perfume 
Of  opening  flowers,  and  work  while  day  shall  last. 
Then  rising   higher,   he   warms   each    dank,    cold 
spot, 


*  At  the  time  of  Buddha's  birth  there  seemed  to  be  no  mean  between 
the  Chakravartin  or  absolute  monarch  and  the  recluse  who  had  re" 
nounced  all  ordinary  duties  and  enjoyments,  and  was  subjecting'  him 
self  to  all  deprivations  and  sufferings.  Buddha  taught  the  middle 
course  of  diligence  in  daily  duties  and  universal  love. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST  —  BOOK  I.  21 

Dispels  the  sickening-  vapors,  clothes  the  fields 
With  waving-  grain,  the  trees  with  g-olden  fruit, 
The  vines  with  grapes  ;  and  when  'tis  time  for  rest, 
Sinks  in  the  west,  and  with  new  glory  gilds 
The  mountain-tops,  the  clouds  and  western  sky, 
And  calls  all  nature  to  refreshing-  sleep. 
If  he  be  God,  the  useful  are  like  God  ; 
If  not,  God  made  the  sun,  who  made  all  men 
And  by  his  great  example  teaches  them 
The  dilig-ent  are  wise,  the  useful  g-ood." 

Sorely  perplexed  he  called  his  counselors, 

Grown  gray  in  serving-  their  beloved  king-, 

And  said  :     "  Friends  of  my  youth,  manhood  and 


So  wise  in  counsel  and  so  brave  in  war, 
Who  never  failed  in  dang-er  or  distress, 
Oppressed  with  fear,  I  come  to  you  for  aid. 
You  know  the  prophecies,  that  from  my  house 
Shall  come  a  king-,  or  savior  of  the  world. 
You  saw  strang-e  sig-ns  precede  Siddartha's  birth, 
And  saw  the  ancient  sag-e  whom  no  one  knew 
Fall  down  before  the  prince,  and  hail  my  house. 
You  heard  him  tell  the  queen  she  soon  would  die, 
And  saw  her  sink  in  death  as  in  sweet  sleep; 
You  laid  her  g-ently  on  her  funeral  pile, 
And  heard  my  cry  of  ang-uish,  when  the  sag"e 
Ag-ain  appeared  and  bade  me  not  to  weep 
For  her  as  dead  who  lived  and  loved  me  still. 
We  saw  the  prince  grow  up  to  man's  estate, 
So  strong-  and  full  of  manliness  and  grace, 


22  THE  DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

And  wise  beyond  his  teachers  and  his  years, 

And  thought  in  him  the  prophecies  fulfilled, 

And  that  with  glory  he  would  rule  the  world 

And  bless  all  men  with  universal  peace. 

But  now  dark  shadows  fall  athwart  our  hopes. 

Often  in  sleep  the  prince  will  start  and  cry 

As  if  in  pain,   '  O  world,  sad  world,  I  come  !' 

But  roused,  he'll  sometimes  sit  the  livelong1  day, 

Forgetting-  teachers,  sports  and  even  food, 

As  if  with  dreadful  visions  overwhelmed, 

Or  buried  in  great  thoughts  profound  and  deep. 

But  yet  to  see  our  people,  riding  forth, 

To  their  acclaims  he  answers  with  such  grace 

And  gentle  stateliness,  my  heart  would  swell 

As  I  would  hear  the  people  to  each  other  say  : 

4  Who  ever  saw  such  grace  and  grandeur  joined  ?' 

Yet  while  he  answers  gladness  with  like  joy, 

His  eyes  seem  searching  for  the  sick  and  old, 

The   poor,  and  maimed,   and  blind  —  all  forms  of 

grief, 

And  oft  he'd  say,  tears  streaming  from  his  eyes,* 
'Let  us  return  ;  mv  heart  can  bear  no  more.' 


*  I  am  aware  that  some  Buddhist  authors  whom  Arnold  has  fol 
lowed  in  his  "  Light  of  Asia"  make  Buddha  but  little  better  than  a  state 
prisoner,  and  would  have  us  believe  that  the  glimpses  he  got  of  the  ills 
that  flesh  is  heir  to  were  gained  in  spite  of  all  precautions,  as  he  was 
occasionally  taken  out  of  his  rose  embowered,  damsel  filled  prison- 
house,  and  not  as  any  prince  of  high  intelligence  and  tender  sensibili 
ties  who  loved  his  people  and  mingled  freely  with  them  would  gain  a 
knowledge  of  suffering  and  sorrow  ;  but  we  are  justified  in  passing  all 
such  fancies,  not  only  on  account  of  their  intrinsic  improbability,  but 
because  the  great  Asvaghosha,  who  wrote  about  the  beginning  of  our 
era,  knew  nothing  of  them. 


THE    BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  I.  23 

One  day  we  saw  beneath  a  peepul-tree 

An  aged  Brahman,  wasted  with  long1  fasts, 

Loathsome  with  self-inflicted  ghastly  wounds, 

A  rigid  skeleton,  standing  erect, 

One  hand  stretched  out,  the  other  stretched  aloft, 

His  long  white  beard  grown  filthy  by  neglect. 

Whereat  the  prince  with  shuddering  horror  shook, 

And  cried,  'O  world  !  must  I  be  such  for  thee  ?' 

And  once  he  led  the  chase  of  a  wild  boar 

In  the  great  forest  near  the  glacier's  foot  ; 

On  Kantaka  so  fleet  he  soon  outstripped 

The  rest,  and  in  the  distance  disappeared. 

But  when  at  night  they  reached  the  rendezvous, 

Siddartha  was  not  there;  and  through  the  night 

They  searched,   fearing  to  find  their  much  loved 

prince 

A  mangled  corpse  under  some  towering  cliff, 
But  searched  in  vain,  and  searched  again  next  day, 
Till  in  despair  they  thought  to  bring  me  word 
The  prince  was  lost,  when  Kantaka  was  seen 
Loose-reined  and  free,  and  near  Siddartha  sat 
Under  a  giant  cedar's  spreading  shade. 
Absorbed  in  thought,  in  contemplation  lost, 
Unconscious  that  a  day  and  night  had  passed. 
I  cannot  reason  with  such  earnestness  — 
I  dare  not  chide  such  deep  and  tender  love, 
But  much  I  fear  his  reason's  overthrow 
Or  that  he  may  become  like  that  recluse 
He  shuddered  at,  and  not  a  mighty  king 
With  power  to  crush  the  wrong  and  aid  the  right. 
How  can  we  turn  his  mind  from  such  sad  thoughts 


24  THE   DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

To  life's  full  joys,  the  duties  of  a  king-, 
And  his  great  destiny  so  long-  foretold?" 

The  oldest  and  the  wisest  answered  him: 
"  Most  noble  king-,  your  thoughts  have  long-  been 

mine. 

Oft  have  I  seen  him  lost  in  musing's  sad, 
And  overwhelmed  with  this  absorbing-  love. 
I  know  no  cure  for  such  corroding  thoughts 
But  thoughts  less  sad,  for  such  absorbing  love 
But  stronger  love." 

"  But  how  awake  such  thoughts  ?" 
The  king  replied.     "  How  kindle  such  a  love  ? 
His  loves  seem  but  as  phosphorescent  flames 
That  skim  the  surface,  leaving  him  heart-whole  — 
All  but  this  deep  and  all-embracing  love 
That  folds  within  its  arms  a  suffering  world." 

"  Yes,  noble  king,  so  roams  the  antlered  deer, 
Adding  each  year  a  branch  to  his  great  horns, 
Until  the  unseen  archer  lays  him  low. 
So  lives  our  prince;  but  he  may  see  the  day 
Two  laughing  eyes  shall  pierce  his  inmost  soul, 
And  make  his  whole  frame  quiver  with  new  tire. 
The  next  full  moon  he  reaches  man's  estate. 
We  all  remember  fifty  years  ago 
When  you  became  a  man,  the  sports  and  games, 
The  contests  of  fair  women  and  brave  men, 
In  beauty,  arts  and  arms,  that  filled  three  days 
With  joy  and  gladness,  music,  dance  and  song. 
Let  us  with  double  splendor  now  repeat 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  I.  25 

That  festival,  with  prizes  that  shall  draw 
From  all  your  kingdom  and  the  neighbor  states 
Their  fairest  women  and  their  bravest  men. 
If  any  chance  shall  bring-  his  destined  mate, 
You  then  shall  see  love  dart  from  eye  to  eye, 
As  darts  the  lightning's  flash  from  cloud  to  cloud." 
And  this  seemed  good,  and  so  was  ordered  done. 

The  king  to  all  his  kingdom  couriers  sent, 
And  to  the  neighbor  states,  inviting  all 
To  a  great  festival  and  royal  games 
The  next  full  moon,  day  of  Siddartha's  birth, 
And  offering  varied  prizes,  rich  and  rare, 
To  all  in  feats  of  strength  and  speed  and  skill, 
And  prizes  doubly  rich  and  doubly  rare 
To  all  such  maidens  fair  as  should  compete 
In  youth  and  beauty,  whencesoe'er  they  came, 
The  prince  to  be  the  judge  and  give  the  prize. 

Now  all  was  joy  and  bustle  in  the  streets. 
And  joy  and  stir  in  palace  and  in  park, 
The  prince  himself  joining  the  joyful  throng, 
Forgetting  now  the  sorrows  of  the  world. 
Devising  and  directing  new  delights 
Until  the  park  became  a  fairy  scene. 

Behind  the  palace  lay  a  maidan  wide 
For  exercise  in  arms  and  manly  sports, 
Its  sides  bordered  b}7  gently  rising  hills, 
Where  at  their  ease  the  city's  myriads  sat 
Under  the  shade  of  high-pruned  spreading  trees, 


26  THE   DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Fanned  by  cool  breezes  from  the  snow-capped  peaks; 
While  north,  and  next  the  lake,  a  stately  dome 
Stood  out,  on  slender,  graceful  columns  raised, 
With  seats,  rank  above  rank,  in  order  placed, 
The  throne  above,  and  near  the  throne  were  bowers 
Of  slender  lattice-work,  with  trailing-  vines, 
Thick  set  with  flowers  of  every  varied  tint, 
Breathing1  perfumes,  where  beauty's  champions 
Might  sit,  unseen  of  all  yet  seeing  all. 

At  length  Siddartha's  natal  day  arrives 
With  joy  to  rich  and  poor,  to  old  and  }~oung  — 
Not  joy  that  wealth  can  buy  or  power  command. 
But  real  joy,  that  springs  from  real  love, 
Love  to  the  good  old  king  and  noble  prince. 

When  dawning  day  tinges  with  rosy  light 
The  snow-capped  peaks  of  Himalaya's  chain. 
The  people  are  astir.     In  social  groups, 
The  old  and  young,  companions,  neighbors,  friends, 
Baskets  well    filled,    they    choose    each    vantage- 
ground, 

Until  each  hill  a  sea  of  faces  shows, 
A  sea  of  sparkling- joy  and  rippling  mirth. 

At  trumpet-sound  all  eyes  are  eager  turned 
Up  toward  the  palace  gates,  now  open  wide, 
From  whence  a  gay  procession  issues  forth, 
A  chorus  of  musicians  coming  first, 
And  next  the  prince  mounted  on  Kantaka; 
Then  all  the  high-born  youth  in  rich  attire, 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  I.  27 

Mounted  on  prancing1  steeds  with  trapping's  gay  ; 

And  then  the  good  old  king-,  in  royal  state, 

On  his  huge  elephant,  white  as  the  snow, 

Surrounded  by  his  aged  counselors, 

Some  on  their  chargers,  some  in  litters  borne, 

Their  long  white  beards  floating  in  every  breeze; 

And  next,  competitors  for  every  prize  : 

Twelve  archers,  who  could  pierce  the  lofty  swans 

Sailing  from  feeding-grounds  by  distant  seas 

To  summer  nests  by  Thibet's  marshy  lakes, 

Or  hit  the  whirring  pheasant  as  it  flies  — 

For  in  this  peaceful  reign  they  did  not  make 

Men  targets  for  their  art,  and  armor-joints 

The  marks  through  which  to  pierce  and  kill; 

Then  wrestlers,  boxers,  those  who  hurl  the  quoit. 

And  runners  fleet,  both  lithe  and  light  of  limb; 

And  then  twelve  mighty  spearmen,  who  could  pierce 

The  fleeing  boar  or  deer  or  fleet  gazelle; 

Then  chariots,  three  horses  yoked  to  each, 

The  charioteers  in  Persian  tunics  clad, 

Arms  bare,  legs  bare  —  all  were  athletes  in  power. 

In  form  and  grace  each  an  Apollo  seemed; 

Yoked  to  the  first  were  three  Nisaean  steeds,* 


*  To  suppose  that  the  Aryan  races  when  they  emigrated  to  India 
or  Europe  left  behind  them  their  most  valuable  possession,  the  Nisaean 
horse,  is  to  suppose  them  lacking  in  the  qualities  of  thrift  and  shrewd 
ness  which  have  distinguished  their  descendants.  That  the  Nisaean 
horse  of  the  table-lands  of  Asia  was  the  horse  of  the  armored  knights 
of  the  middle  ages  and  substantially  tbe  Percheron  horse  of  France,  I 
had  a  curious  proof  :  In  Layard's  Nineveh  is  a  picture  of  a  Nisaean  horse 
found  among  the  ruins,  which  would  have  been  taken  as  a  good  picture 
of  a  Percheron  stallion  I  once  owned,  who  stood  for  the  picture  here 
drawn  of  what  I  regard  as  his  undoubted  ancestor. 


28  THE  DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Each  snowy  white,  proud  stepping1,  rangy,  tall, 
Chests  broad,  leg's  clean  and  strong1,  necks  arched 

and  high, 

With  foreheads  broad,  and  eyes  large,  full  and  mild, 
A  race  that  oft  Olympic  prizes  won, 
And  whose  descendants  far  from  Iran's  plains 
Bore  armored  knights  in  battle's  deadly  shock 
On  many  bloody  European  fields; 
Then  three  of  ancient  Babylonian  stock,* 
Blood  bay  and  glossy  as  rich  Tyrian  silk  — 
Such  horses  Israel's  sacred  prophets  saw 
Bearing  their  conquerors  in  triumph  home, 
A  race  for  ages  kept  distinct    and  pure, 
Fabled  from  Alexander's  charger  sprung  ; 
Then  three  from  distant  desert  Tartar  steppes, 
Ewe-necked,  ill-favored  creatures,  lank  and  gaunt, 
That  made  the  people  laugh  as  the}'  passed  by  — 
Who  ceased  to  laugh  when  they  had  run  the  race  — 
Such  horses  bore  the  mighty  Mongol  hostst 
That  with  the  cyclone's  speed  swept  o'er  the  earth  ; 
Then  three,  one  gray,  one  ba}%  one  glossy  black. 
Descended  from  four  horses  long  since  brought 
By  love-sick  chief  from  Arab}*  the  blest, 
Seeking  with  such  rare  gifts  an  Indian  bride. 
Whose  slender,  graceful  forms,  compact  and  light, 
Combined  endurance,  beauty,  strength  and  speed  — 

*  Marco  Polo  speaks  of  the  breed  of  horses  here  attempted  to  be 
described  as  "excellent,  larjre,  strong-  and  swift,  said  to  be  of  the  race 
of  Alexander's  Bucephalus." 

t  It  is  said  that  the  Mongolians  in  their  career  of  conquest  could 
move  an  army  of  500,000  fifty  miles  a  day,  a  speed  out  of  the  question 
with  all  the  facilities  of  modern  warfare. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  I.  29 

A  wondrous  breed,  whose  famed  descendants  bore 

The  Moslem  hosts  that  swept  from  off  the  earth 

Thy  mighty  power,  corrupt,  declining-  Rome, 

And  with  each  other  now  alone  contend 

In  speed,  whose  sons  cast  out,  abused  and  starved, 

Alone  can  save  from  rag-ing-  whirlwind  flames* 

That  all-devouring-  sweep  our  western  plains  ; 

Then  stately  elephants  came  next  in  line, 

With  measured  step  and  g-ently  swaying-  g-ait, 

Covered  with  cloth  of  gold  richly  inwrought, 

Each  bearing  in  a  howdah  gaily  decked 

A  fair  competitor  for  beauty's  prize, 

With  merry  comrades  and  some  sober  friend  ; 

The  vina,  bansuli,  sitar  and  harp 

Filling  the  air  with  sweetest  melody, 

While  rippling  laughter  from  each  howdah  rang, 

And  sweetest  odors,  as  from  op'ning  flowers, 

Breathed  from  their  rich  apparel  as  they  passed. 

And  thus  they  circle  round  the  maidan  wide, 
And  as  they  pass  along  the  people  shout, 
"Long  live  the  king  !  long  live  our  noble  prince!'r 
To  all  which  glad  acclaims  the  prince  responds 
With  heartfelt  courtesy  and  royal  grace. 

When  they  had  nearly  reached  the  palace  gate 
On  their  return,  the  king  drew  to  the  right 
With  his  attendants,  while  the  prince  with  his 
Drew  to  the  left,  reviewing  all  the  line 

*  See  Bret  Harte's  beautiful  poem,  "  Sell  Patchin,"  and  also  an  arti 
cle  on  the  "  Horses  of  the  Plains,"  in   The  Century,  January,  1889. 


30  THE   DAWN   AND  THE    DAY. 

That  passed  again  down  to  the  judges'  seat. 

Under  the  king's  pavilion  near  the  lake. 

The  prince  eagerly  watched  them  as  they  passed, 

Noting  their  brawn}'  limbs  and  polished  arms, 

The  pose  and  skill  of  every  charioteer, 

The  parts  and  varied  breed  of  every  horse, 

Aiding  his  comrades  with  his  deeper  skill. 

But  when  the  queens  of  beauty  passed  him  by, 

He  was  all  smiles  and  gallantry  and  grace, 

Until  the  last,  Yasodhara,  came  near, 

Whose  laugh  was  clearest  of  the  merry  crowd, 

Whose  golden  hair  imprisoned  sunlight  seemed, 

Whose  cheek,  blending  the  lily  with  the  rose, 

Spoke  of  more  northern  skies  and  Aryan  blood, 

Whose  rich,  not  gaud}-,  robes  exquisite  taste 

Had  made  to  suit  her  so  they  seemed  a  part 

Of  her  sweet  self ;  whose  manner,  simple,  free, 

Not  bold  or  shy,  whose  features  —  no  one  saw 

Her  features,  for  her  soul  covered  her  face 

As  with  a  veil  of  ever-moving  life. 

When  she  came  near,  and  her  bright  eyes  met  his, 

He  seemed  to  start ;  his  gallantry  was  gone. 

And  like  an  awkward  boy  he  sat  and  gazed; 

And  her  laugh  too  was  hushed,  and  she  passed  on, 

Passed  out  of  sight  but  never  out  of  mind. 

The  king  and  all  his  counselors  saw  this. 

"  Good  king,  our  deer  is  struck,"  Asita  said, 

"  If  this  love  cure  him  not,  nothing  can  cure." 


BOOK  II. 


SHE  passed  along-,  and  then  the  king-  and  prince 
With  their  attendants  wheeled  in  line  and  moved 
Down  to  the  royal  stand,  each  to  his  place. 

The  trumpets  sound,  and  now  the  games  beg-in. 

But  see  the  scornful  curl  of  Culture's  lip 

At  such  low  sports  !    Dyspeptic  preachers  hear 

Harang-ue  the  sleepers  on  their  sinfulness  ! 

Hear  grave  philosophers,  so  limp  and  frail 

They  scarce  can  walk  God's  earth  to  breathe  his  air, 

Talk  of  the  waste  of  time!     Short-sig-hted  men! 

God  made  the  body  just  to  fit  the  mind, 

Each  part  exact,  no  scrimping-  and  no  waste  — 

Neg-lect  the  body  and  you  cramp  the  soul. 

First  brawny  wrestlers,  shining-  from  the  bath, 
Wary  and  watchful,  quick  with  arm  and  eye, 
After  long-  play  clinch  close,  arms  twined,  knees 
locked, 

(31) 


32  THE  DAWN   AND  THE    DAY,  OR 

Each  nerve  and  muscle  strained,  and  stand  as  still 

As  if  a  bronze  from  Vulcan's  fabled  shop, 

Or  else  by  power  of  magic  changed  to  stone 

In  that  supremest  moment,  when  a  breath 

Or  feather's  weight  would  tip  the  balanced  scale  ; 

And  when  they  fall  the  shouts  from  hill  to  hill 

Sound  like  the  voices  of  the  mighty  deep, 

As  wave  on  wave  breaks  on  the  rock-bound  shore. 

Then  boxers,  eye  to  eye  and  foot  to  foot, 
One  arm  at  guard,  the  other  raised  to  strike. 

The  hurlers  of  the  quoit  next  stand  in  line, 
Measure  the  distance  with  experienced  eye, 
Adjust  the  rings,  swing  them  with  growing  speed, 
Until  at  length  on  very  tiptoe  poised, 
Like  Mercury  just  lighted  on  the  earth, 
With  mighty  force  they  whirl  them  through  the 
air. 

And  then  the  spearmen,  having  for  a  mark 
A  lion  rampant,  standing  as  in  life, 
So  distant  that  it  seemed  but  half  life-size, 
Each  vital  part  marked  with  a  little  ring. 
And  when  the  spears  were  hurled,  six  trembling" 

stood 

Fixed  in  the  beast,  piercing  each  vital  part, 
Leaving  the  victory  in  even  scale. 
For  these  was  set  far  off  a  lesser  mark, 
Until  at  length  by  chance,  not  lack  of  skill, 
The  victory  so  long  in  doubt  was  won. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  II.  33 

And  then  again  the  people  wildly  shout, 

The  prince  victor  and  nobly  vanquished  praised. 

Next  runners,   lithe  and  light,    glide  round  the 

plain. 

Whose  flying  feet  like  Mercury's  seemed  winged, 
Their  chests  expanded,  and  their  swinging  arms 
Like  oars  to  guide  and  speed  their  rapid  course; 
And  as  they  passed  along  the  people  cheered 
Each  well-known  master  of  the  manly  art. 

Then    archers,    with    broad  chests  and   brawny 

arms 

Such  as  the  blacksmith's  heavy  hammer  wields 
With  quick,  hard  blows  that  make  the  anvil  ring- 
And  myriad  sparks  from  the  hot  iron  fly  ; 
A  golden  eagle  on  a  screen  their  mark, 
So  distant  that  it  seemed  a  sparrow's  size  — 
"  For,"  said  the  prince,   "  let  not  this  joyful  day 
Give  anguish  to  the  smallest  living  thing." 
They  strain  their  bows  until  their  muscles  seem 
Like   knotted  cords,  the  twelve  strings  twang  at 

once, 

And  the  ground  trembles  as  at  the  swelling  tones 
Of  mighty  organs  or  the  thunder's  roll. 
Two  arrows  pierce  the  eagle,  while  the  rest 
All  pierce  the  screen.     A  second  mark  was  set, 
When  lo  !  high  up  in  air  two  lines  of  swans, 
Having  one  leader,  seek  their  northern  nests, 
Their  white  plumes  shining  in  the  noonday  sun, 
Calling  each  other  in  soft  mellow  notes. 


34  THE  DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Instant  one  of  the  people  cries  "  A  mark  !" 
Whereat  the  thousands  shout  "A  mark  !  a  mark  !" 
One  of  the  archers  chose  the  leader,  one   the  last. 
Their  arrows  fly.     The  last  swan  left  its  mates 
As  if  sore  wounded,  while  the  first  came  down 
Like  a  great  eagle  swooping  for  its  prey, 
And  fell  before  the  prince,  its  strong- wing  pierced, 
Its  bright  plumes  darkened  by  its  crimson  blood. 
Whereat  the  people  shout,  and  shout  again, 
Until  the  hills  repeat  the  mighty  sound. 
The  prince  gently  but  sadly  raised  the  bird, 
Stroked  tenderly  its  plumes,  calmed  its  wild  fear, 
And  gave  to  one  to  care  for  and  to  cure. 

And  now  the  people  for  the  chariot-race 
Grow  eager,  while  beneath  the  royal  stand, 
By  folding  doors  hid  from  the  public  view, 
The  steeds,  harnessed  and  ready,  champ  their  bits 
And  paw  the  ground,  impatient  for  the  start. 
The  charioteers  alert,  with  one  strong  hand 
Hold  high  the  reins,  the  other  holds  the  lash. 
Timour —  a  name  that  since  has  filled  the  world, 
A  Tartar  chief,  whose  sons  long  after  swept 
As  with  destruction's  broom  fair  India's  plains — 
With  northern  jargon  calmed  his  eager  steeds  ; 
Azim,  from  Cashmere's  rugged  lovely  vale, 
His  prancing  Babylonians  firmly  held  ; 
Channa,  from  Ganges'  broad  and  sacred  stream, 
With  bit  and  word  checked  his  Niszean  three  ; 
While  Devadatta,  cousin  to  the  prince, 
Soothed  his  impatient  Arabs  with  such  terms 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  II.  36 

As  fondest  mothers  to  their  children  use  : 
"Atair,  my  pet  !  Mira,  my  baby,  hush  ! 
Regil,  my  darling-  child,  be  still !  be  still !" 
With  necks  high  arched,  nostrils  distended  wide, 
And  eag-er  g-aze,  they  stood  as  those  that  saw 
Some  distant  object  in  their  desert  home. 

At  length  the  gates  open  as  of  themselves, 
When  at  the  trumpet's  sound  the  steeds  dash  forth 
As  by  one  spirit  moved,  under  tig-ht  rein, 
And  neck  and  neck  they  thunder  down  the  plain, 
While  rising-  dust-clouds  chase  the  flying-  wheels. 
But  weight,  not  lack  of  nerve  or  spirit,  tells  ; 
Azim  and  Channa  urge  their  steeds  in  vain, 
By  Tartar  and  light  Arab  left  behind 
As  the  lig"ht  g-alley  leaves  the  man-of-war ; 
They  sweat  and  labor  ere  a  mile  is  g-ained, 
While  their  light  rivals  pass  the  royal  stand 
Fresh  as  at  first,  just  warming-  to  the  race. 

And  now  the  real  race  at  leng-th  begins, 
A  double  race,  such  as  the  Romans  loved. 
Horses   so  matched   in  weight  and  strength   and 

speed, 

Drivers  so  matched  in  skill  that  as  they  pass 
Azim  and  Channa  seemed  a  single  man. 
Timour  and  Devadatta,  side  by  side, 
Wheel  almost  touching  wheel,  dash  far  ahead. 

Azim  and  Channa,  left  so  far  behind, 
No  longer  urg-e  a  race  already  lost. 


36  THE  DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

The  Babylonian  and  Nisaean  steeds, 

No  longer  pressed  so  far  beyond  their  power, 

With  long  and  even  strides  sweep  smoothly  on, 

Striking-  the  earth  as  with  a  single  blow, 

Their  hot  breath  rising  in  a  single  cloud. 

Arab  and  Tartar  with  a  longer  stride 

And  lighter  stroke  skim  lightly  o'er  the  ground. 

Watching  the  horses  with  a  master's  eye, 

As  Devadatta  and  Timour  four  times, 

Azim  and  Channa  thrice,  swept  by  the  stand, 

The  prince  saw  that  another  round  would  test, 

Not  overtax,  their  powers,  and  gave  the  sign, 

When  three  loud  trumpet-blasts  to  all  proclaimed 

That  running  one  more  round  would  end  the  race. 

These  ringing  trumpet-calls  that  brought  defeat 

Or  victory  so  near,  startle  and  rouse. 

The  charioteers  more  ardent  urge  their  steeds  ; 

The  steeds  are  with  hot  emulation  fired  ; 

The  social  multitude  now  cease  to  talk  — 

Even  age  stops  short  in  stories  often  told; 

Boys,  downy-chinned,  in  rough-and-tumble  sports 

Like    half-grown  bears  engaged,   turn    quick    and 

look; 

And  blooming  girls,  with  merry  ringing  laugh, 
Romping  in  gentler  games,  watching  meanwhile 
With  sly  and  sidelong  look  the  rougher  sports, 
Turn  eagerly  to  see  the  scene  below; 
While  mothers  for  the  time  forget  their  babes, 
And  lovers  who  had  sought  out  quiet  nooks 
To  tell  the  tale  that  all  the  past  has  told 
And  coming  times  will  tell,  stand  mute  and  gaze. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  II.  37 

The   home-stretch  soon  is  reached,  and  Channa's 

three 

By  word  and  lash  urged  to  their  topmost  speed, 
The  foaming"  Babylonians  left  behind, 
While  Devadatta  and  Timour  draw  near, 
A  whole  round  gained,  Timour  a  length  ahead. 
But  Devadatta  loosens  now  his  reins, 
Chides  his  fleet  pets,  with  lash  swung  high  in  air 
Wounds  their  proud  spirits,  not  their  tender  flesh. 
With  lion-bounds  they  pass  the  Tartar  steeds, 
That  with  hot  rival  rage  and  open  mouths, 
And  flaming  eyes,  and  fierce  and  angry  cries, 
Dash  full  at  Regil's  side,  but  dash  in  vain. 
Fear  adding  speed,  the  Arabs  sweep  ahead. 
Meanwhile  the  prince  springs  forward  from  his  seat, 
And  all  on  tiptoe  still  and  eager  stand, 
So  that  the  rumbling  of  the  chariot-wheels, 
The  tramp  of  flying  feet  and  drivers'  cries, 
Alone  the  universal  stillness  break  — 
As  when  before  the  bursting  of  some  fearful  storm, 
Birds,  beasts  and  men  stand  mute  wilhi  trembling 

awe, 

While  heaven's  artillery  and  roaring  winds 
Are  in  the  awful  silence  only  heard. 
But  when  the  double  victory  is  gained, 
Drums,  shells  and  trumpets  mingle  with  the  shouts 
From  hill  to  hill  re-echoed  and  renewed  — 
As  when,  after  the  morning's  threatening  bow, 
Dark,  lurid,  whirling  clouds  obscure  the  day, 
And  forked  lightnings  dart  athwart  the  sky, 
And  angry  winds  roll  up  the  boiling  sea, 


38  THE   DAWN    AND  THE    DAY,  OR 

And  thunder,  raging-  winds  and  warring  waves 
Join  in  one  mighty  and  earth-shaking  roar. 

Thus  end  the  games,  and  the  procession  forms, 
The  king  and  elders  first,  contestants  next, 
And  last  the  prince  ;  each  victor  laurel-crowned, 
And  after  each  his  prize,  while  all  were  given 
Some  choice  memorial  of  the  happy  day  — 
Cinctures  to  all  athletes  to  gird  the  loins 
And  falling  just  below  the  knee,  the  belt 
Of  stoutest  leather,  joined  with  silver  clasps, 
The  skirt  of  softest  wool  or  finest  silk, 
Adorned  with  needlework  and  decked  with  gems, 
Such  as  the  modest  Aryans  always  wore 
In  games  intended  for  the  public  view, 
Before  the  Greeks  became  degenerate, 
And  savage  Rome  compelled  those  noble  men 
Whose  only  crime  was  love  of  liberty, 
By  discipline  and  numbers  overwhelmed, 
Bravely  defending  children,  wife  and  home, 
Naked  to  fight  each  other  or  wild  beasts, 
And  called  this  brutal  savagery  high  sport 
For  them  and  for  their  proud  degenerate  dames, 
Of  whom  few  were  what  Caesar's  wife  should  be. 
The  athletes'  prizes  all  were  rich  and  rare, 
Some  costly  emblem  of  their  several  arts. 
The  archers'  prizes  all  were  bows  ;  the  first 
Made  from  the  horns  of  a  great  mountain-goat 
That  long  had  ranged  the  Himalayan  heights. 
Till  some  bold  hunter  climbed  his  giddy  cliffs 
And  brought  his  unsuspecting  victim  down. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  II.  39 

His  lofty  horns  the  bowsmith  root  to  root 

Had  firmly  joined,  and  polished  bright, 

And  tipped  with  finest  gold,  and  made  a  bow 

Worthy  of  Sinhahamu's*  mighty  arm. 

The  other  prizes,  bows  of  lesser  strength 

But  better  suited  to  their  weaker  arms. 

A  chariot,  the  charioteers'  first  prize, f 

Its  slender  hubs  made  strong  with  brazen  bands, 

The  spokes  of  whitest  ivory  polished  bright, 

The  fellies  ebon}%  with  tires  of  bronze, 

Each  axle's  end  a  brazen  tiger's  head, 

The  body  woven  of  slender  bamboo  shoots 

Intwined  with  silver  wire  and  decked  with  gold. 

A  mare  and  colt  of  the  victorious  breed 

The  second  prize,  more  worth  in  Timour's  eyes 

Than  forty  chariots,  though  each  were  made 

Of  ebony  or  ivory  or  gold, 

And  all  the  laurel  India  ever  grew. 

The  third,  a  tunic  of  soft  Cashmere  wool, 

On  which,  by  skillful  needles  deftly  wrought, 

The  race  itself  as  if  in  life  stood  forth. 

The  fourth,  a  belt  to  gird  the  laggard's  loins 

And  whip  to  stimulate  his  laggard  steeds. 


*  Sinhahamu  was  an  ancestor,  said  to  be  the  grandfather,  of  onr 
prince,  whose  bow,  like  that  of  Ulysses,  no  one  else  could  bend.  See 
notes  24  and  25  to  Book  Second  of  Arnold's  "  Light  of  Asia." 

t  Any  one  who  has  read  that  remarkable  work,  "  Ben  Hur,"  and 
every  one  who  has  not  should,  will  recognize  my  obligations  to  General 
Wallace. 


40  THE   DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

And  thus   arrayed   they  moved  once  round  the 

course, 

Then  to  the  palace,  as  a  fitter  place 
For  beauty's  contest  than  the  open  plain  ; 
The  singers  chanting-  a  triumphal  hymn, 
While  many  instruments,  deep  toned  and  shrill, 
And  all  the  multitude,  the  chorus  swell. 

This  day  his  mission  ceased  to  press  the  prince, 
And  he  forgot  the  sorrows  of  the  world, 
So  deep  and  earnest  seemed  the  general  joy. 
Kven  those  with  grinning  skeletons  at  home 
In  secret  closets  locked  from  public  view, 
And  care  and  sorrow  rankling  at  their  hearts, 
Joined  in  the  general  laugh  and  swelled  the  shouts, 
And  seemed  full  happy  though  they  only  seemed. 
But  through  the  games,  while  all  was  noisy  mirth, 
He  felt  a  new,  strange  feeling  at  his  heart, 
And  ever  and  anon  he  stole  a  glance 
At  beauty's  rose-embowered  hiding-place, 
To  catch  a  glimpse  of  those  two  laughing  eyes, 
So  penetrating  yet  so  soft  and  mild. 
And  at  the  royal  banquet  spread  for  all 
It  chanced  Yasodhara  sat  next  the  prince  — 
An  accident  by  older  heads  designed  — 
And  the  few  words  that  such  constraint  allowed 
Were  music  to  his  ears  and  touched  his  heart; 
And  when  her  eyes  met  his  her  rosy  blush 
Told  what  her  maiden  modesty  would  hide. 
And  at  the  dance,  when  her  soft  hands  touched  his 
The  music  seemed  to  quicken,  time  to  speed; 


THK   IUJDMHA   AND  rirK  rnuiST — HOOK  II.  41 

But  when  she  bowed  and  passed  to  other  hands, 
Winding-  the  mystic  measure  of  the  dance,* 
The  music  seemed  to  slacken,  time  to  halt, 
Or  drag1  his  limping1  moments  lingering1  on. 
At  leng-th,  after  the  dance,  the  beauties  passed 
Before  the  prince,  and  each  received  her  prize, 
So  rich  and  rare  that  each  thought  hers  the  first, 
A  treasure  to  be  kept  and  shown  with  pride, 
And  handed  down  to  children  yet  unborn. 
But  when  Yasodhara  before  him  stood, 
The  prizes  all  were  gone.;  but  from  his  neck 
He  took  a  golden  chain  thick  set  with  gems, 
And  clasped  it  round  her  slender  waist,  and  said  : 
"Take  this,  and  keep  it  for  the  giver's  sake." 

And  from  the  prince  they  passed  before  the  king. 
The  proud  and  stately  he  would  greet  with  grace, 
The  timid  cheer  with  kind  and  gracious  words. 
But  when  Yasodhara  bowed  low  and  passed, 
He  started,  and  his  color  went  and  came 
As  if  oppressed  with  sudden  inward  pain. 
Asita,  oldest  of  his  counselors, 
Sprang  to  his  side  and  asked:     "What  ails  the 

king?" 

"  Nothing,  my  friend,  nothing,"  the  king  replied, 
"  But  the  sharp  probing  of  an  ancient  wound. 
You  know  how  my  sweet  queen  was  loved  of  all  — 


*One  may  be  satisfied  with  the  antiquity  of  the  dance,  practically  as 
we  have  it,  from  lines  1878,  Book  VI,  of  ihe  Odyssey: 
"  Joyful  they  see  applauding'  princes  craze 

When  stately  in  the  dance  they  swim  the  harmonious  maze." 


42  THE   DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

But  how  her  life  was  woven  into  mine, 

Filling-  my  inmost  soul,  none  e'er  can  know. 

My  bitter  anguish  words  can  never  tell, 

As  that  sweet  life  was  gently  breathed  away. 

Time  only  strengthens  this  enduring  love, 

And  she  seems  nearer  me  as  I  grow  old. 

Often  in  stillest  night's  most  silent  hour, 

When  the  sly  nibbling1  of  a  timid  mouse 

In  the  deep  stillness  sounds  almost  as  loud 

As  builders'  hammers  in  the  busy  day, 

My  Maya  as  in  life  stands  by  my  side. 

A  halo  round  her  head,  as  she  would  say  : 

'  A  little  while,  and  you  shall  have  youf*  own.' 

Often  in  deepest  sleep  she  seems  to  steal 

Into  that  inmost  chamber  of  my  soul 

Vacant  for  her,  and  nestle  to  my  heart. 

Breathing-  a  peace  my  waking  hours  know  not. 

And  when  I  wake,  and  turn  to  clasp  my  love 

My  sinking  heart  finds  but  her  vacant  place. 

Since  that  sad  day  that  stole  her  from  my  arms 

I've  seen  a  g-eneration  of  sweet  girls 

Grow  up  to  womanhood,  but  none  like  her  ! 

But  that  brig-ht  vision  that  just  flitted  by 

Seemed  so  like  her  it  made  me  cringe  and  start. 

O  dear  Asita,  little  worth  is  life, 

With  all  its  tears  and  partings,  woes  and  pains, 

If  when  its  short  and  fitful  fever  ends 

There  is  no  after-life,  where  death  and  pain, 

And  sundered  ties,  and  crushed  and  bleeding-  hearts, 

And  sad  and  last  farewells  are  never  known." 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHKIST — BOOK  II.  43 

Such  was  the  old  and  such  the  new-born  love  ; 
The  new  quick  bursting-  into  sudden  flame, 
Warming-  the  soul  to  active  consciousness 
That  man  alone  is  but  a  severed  part 
Of  one  full,  rounded,  perfect,  living  whole  ; 
The  old  a  stead}1-  but  undying-  flame, 
A  living-  long-ing-  for  the  loved  and  lost ; 
But  each  a  real  hung-er  of  the  soul 
For  what  g-ave  paradise  its  hig-hest  bliss, 
And  what  in  this  poor  fallen  world  of  ours 
Gives  g-limpses  of  its  high  and  happy  life. 

O  love  !  how  beautiful  !  how  pure  !  how  sweet ! 
Life  of  the  ang-els  that  surround  God's  throne  ! 
But  when  corrupt,  Pandora's  box  itself, 
Whence  spring  all  human  ills  and  woes  and  crimes, 
The  very  fire  that  lig-hts  the  flames  of  hell. 

The  festival  is  past.     The  crowds  have  g-one, 
The  dilig-ent  to  their  accustomed  round 
Of  works  and  days,  works  to  each  day  assigned, 
The  thoughtless  and  the  thriftless  multitude 
To  meet  their  tasks  haphazard  as  they  come, 
But  all  the  same  old  story  to  repeat 
Of  cares  and  sorrows  sweetened  by  some  joys. 

Three  days  the  sweet  Yasodhara  remained, 
For  her  long  journey  taking  needful  rest. 
But  when  the  rosy  dawn  next  tinged  the  east 
And  lit  the  mountain-tops  and  filled  the  park 
With  a  great  burst  of  rich  and  varied  song. 


44  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

The  good  old  king-  bade  the  sweet  girl  farewell, 
Imprinting-  on  her  brow  a  loving-  kiss, 
While  welling1  up  from  tender  memories 
Big-  tear-drops  trickled  down  his  furrowed  cheeks. 
And  as  her  train,  escorted  by  the  prince 
And  noble  youth,  wound  slowly  down  the  hill, 
The  rising  sun  with  glory  gilds  the  city 
That  like  a  diadem  circled  its  brow, 
While  giant  shadows  stretch  across  the  plain  ; 
And  when  they  reach  the  plain  they  halt  for  rest 
Deep  in  a  garden's  cooling  shade,  where  flowers 
That  fill  the  air  with  grateful  fragrance  hang- 
By  ripening-  fruits,  and  where  all  seems  at  rest 
Save  two  young-  hearts  and  tiny  tireless  birds 
That  dart  from  flower  to  flower  to  suck  their  sweets, 
And  even  the  brook  that  babbled  down  the  hill 
Now  murmurs  dreamily  as  if  asleep. 
Sweet  spot!  sweet  hour!  how  quick  its  moments  fly! 
How  soon  the  cooling  winds  and  sinking  sun 
And  bustling  stir  of  preparation  tells 
'Tis  time  for  her  to  go  ;  and  when  they  part, 
The  gentle  pressure  of  the  hand,  one  kiss  — 
A  kiss  not  given  yet  not  resisted  —  tells 
A  tale  of  love  that  words  are  poor  to  tell. 
And  when  she  goes  how  lonely  seems  her  way 
Through    groves,    through    fields,    through    busy 

haunts  of  men; 

And  as  he  climbs  the  hill  and  often  stops 
To  watch  her  lessening  train  until  at  length 
Her  elephant  seems  but  a  moving  speck, 
Proud  Kantaka,  pawing  and  neighing,  asks 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  II.  45 

As  plain  as  men  could  ever  ask  in  words  : 
"What  makes    my    master    choose    this    laggard 
pace?" 

At  length  she  climbs  those  rocky,  rugged  hills 
That  guarded  well  the  loveliest  spot  on  earth 
Until  the  Moguls  centuries  after  came, 
Like  swarms  of  locusts  swept  before  the  wind, 
Or  ravening  wolves,  to  conquer  fair  Cashmere.* 
And  when  she  reached  the  top,  before  her  lay, 
As  on  a  map  spread  out,  her  native  land, 
By  lofty  mountains  walled  on  every  side, 
From  winds,  from  wars,  and  from  the  world  shut 

out ; 
The  same  great  snow-capped  mountains  north  and 

east 

In  silent,  glittering,  awful  grandeur  stand, 
And  west  the  same  bold,  rugged,  cliff-crowned  hills- 
That  rilled  her  eyes  with  wonder  when  a  child. 
Below  the  snow  a  belt  of  deepest  green ; 
Below  this  belt  of  green  great  rolling  hills, 
Checkered    with    orchards,     vineyards,     pastures,. 

fields, 

The  vale  beneath  peaceful  as  sleeping  babe, 
The  city  nestling  round  the  shining  lake, 
And  near  the- park  and  palace,  her  sweet  home. 

*  I  am  aware  I  place  Kapilavastu  nearer  the  Vale  of  Cashmere  than 
most,  but  as  two  such  writers  as  Beal  and  Rhys  Davids  differ  30  yojanas- 
or  180  miles  in  its  location,  and  as  no  remains  have  yet  been  identified 
at  all  corresponding'  to  the  grandeur  of  the  ancient  city  as  described  by 
all  Buddhist  writers,  I  felt  free  to  indulge  my  fancy.  Perhaps  these 
ruins  may  yet  be  found  by  some  chance  traveler  in  some  unexplored 
jnng-le. 


46  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

O  noble,  peaceful,  beautiful  Cashmere  ! 
Well  named  the  garden  of  eternal  spring- ! 
But  yet,  with  home  and  all  its  joys  so  near, 
She  often  turned  and  strained  her  eager  eyes 
To  catch  one  parting1  glimpse  of  that  sweet  spot 
Where  more  than  half  of  her  young  heart  was  left. 

At  length  their  horns,  whose  mocking  echoes 
Rolled  from  hill  to  hill,  were  answered  from  below, 
While  from  the  park  a  gay  procession  comes, 
Increasing  as  it  moves,  to  welcome  her, 
Light  of  the  palace,  the  people's  idol,  home. 

The    prince's    thoughts    by    day  and    dreams  by 

night 

Meanwhile  were  filled  with  sweet  Yasodhara, 
And  this  bright  vision  ever  hovering  near 
Hid  from  his  eyes  those  grim  and  ghastly  forms, 
Night-loving  and  light-shunning  brood  of  sin, 
That  ever  haunt  poor  fallen  human  lives, 
And  from  the  darkened  corners  of  the  soul 
Are  quick  to  sting  each  pleasure  with  sharp  pain, 
To  pour  some  bitter  in  life's  sweetest  cup, 
And  shadow  with  despair  its  brightest  hopes  — 
Made  him  forget  how  sorrow  fills  the  world, 
How  strength  is  used  to  crush  and  not  to  raise, 
How  creeds  are  bandages  to  blind  men's  eyes, 
Lest  they  should  see  and  walk  in  duty's  path 
That  leads  to  peace  on  earth  and  joy  in  heaven, 
And  even  made  him  for  the  time  forget 
His  noble  mission  to  restore  and  save. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  II.  47 

He  sought  her  for  his  bride,  but  waited  long1, 
For  princes  cannot  wed  like  common  folk  — 
Friends  called,  a  feast  prepared,  some  bridal  gifts, 
Some  tears  at  parting  and  some  solemn  vows, 
Rice  scattered,  slippers  thrown  with  noisy  mirth, 
And  common  folk  are  joined  till  death  shall  part. 
Till  death  shall  part  !     O  faithless,  cruel  thought ! 
Death  ne'er  shall  part  souls  joined  by  holy  love, 
Who  through  life's  trials,  joys  and  cares 
Have  to  each  other  clung,  faithful  till  death, 
Tender  and  true  in  sickness  and  in  health, 
Bearing  each  other's  burdens,  sharing  griefs, 
Lightening  each  care  and  heightening  every  joy. 
Such  life  is  but  a  transient  honeymoon, 
A  feeble  foretaste  of  eternal  joys. 
But  princes  when  they  love,  though  all  approve, 
Must  wait  on  councils,  embassies  and  forms. 
But  how  the  coach  of  state  lumbers  and  lags 
With  messages  of  love  whose  own  light  wings 
Glide  through  all  bars,  outstrip  all  fleetest  things  — 
No  bird  so  light,  no  thought  so  fleet  as  they. 

But  while  the  prince  chafed  at  the  long  delay, 
The  sweet  Yasodhara  began  to  feel 
The  bitter  pangs  of  unrequited  love. 
But  her  young  hands,  busy  with  others'  wants, 
And  her  }7oung  heart,  busy  with  others'  woes, 
With  acts  of  kindness  filled  the  lagging  hours, 
Best  of  all  medicines  for  aching  hearts. 
Yet  often  she  would  seek  a  quiet  nook 
Deep  in  the  park,  where  giant  trees  cross  arms, 


48  THB  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Making1  high  gothic  arches,  and  a  shade 

That  noonday's  fiercest  rays  could  scarcely  pierce, 

And  there  alone  with  her  sad  heart  communed  : 

"Yes  !  I  have  kept  it  for  the  giver's  sake, 

But  he  has  quite  forgot  his  love,  his  gift,  and  me. 

How  bright  these  jewels  seemed  warmed  by  his  love, 

But  now  how  dull,  how  icy  and  how  dead  !" 

But  soon  the  soft-eyed  antelopes  and  fawns 

And  fleet  gazelles  came  near  and  licked  her  hands  ; 

And  birds  of  every  rich  and  varied  plume 

Gathered  around  and  filled  the  air  with  song  ; 

And  even  timid  pheasants  brought  their  broods, 

For  her  sweet  loving1  life  had  here  restored 

The  peace  and  harmony  of  paradise  ; 

And  as  they  shared  her  bounty  she  was  soothed 

By  their  mute  confidence  and  perfect  trust. 

But  thoug-h  time  seems  to  lag,  yet  still  it  moves, 
Resistless  as  the  ocean's  swelling-  tide, 
Bearing-  its  mighty  freight  of  human  lives 
With  all  their  joys  and  sorrows,  hopes  and  fears, 
Onward,  forever  onward,  to  life's  goal. 
At  length  the  embassy  is  sent,  and  now, 
Just  as  the  last  faint  rays  of  rosy  light 
Fade  from  the  topmost  Himalayan  peaks, 
And  tired  nature  sinks  to  quiet  rest, 
A  horseman  dashes  through  the  silent  streets 
Bearing  the  waiting  prince  the  welcome  word 
That  one  short  journey  of  a  single  day 
Divides  him  from  the  sweet  Yasodhara  ; 
And  light-winged  rumor  spreads  the  joyful  news, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  II.  49 

And  ere  the  dawn  had  danced  from  mountain-top 
O'er  hill  and  vale  and  plain  to  the  sweet  notes 
Of  nature's  rich  and  varied  orchestra, 
And  dried  the  pearly  tears  that  night  had  wept, 
The  prince  led  forth  his  train  to  meet  his  bride, 
Wondering1  that  Kantaka,  always  so  free, 
So  eager  and  so  fleet,  should  seem  to  lag. 
And  in  that  fragrant  garden's  cooling  shade, 
Where  they  had  parted,  now  again  they  meet, 
And  there  we  leave  them  reverently  alone, 
For  art  can  never  paint  nor  words  describe 
The  peace  and  rest  and  rapture  of  that  scene. 

Meanwhile  the  city  rings  with  busy  stir. 
The  streets  are  swept  and  sprinkled  with  perfumes, 
And  when  the  evening  shades  had  veiled  the  earth, 
And  heaven's  blue  vault  was  set  with  myriad  stars, 
The  promised  signal  from  the  watchtower  sounds, 
And  myriad  lamps  shine  from  each  house  and  tree, 
And  merry  children  strew  their  way  with  flowers, 
And  all  come  forth  to  greet  Siddartha's  bride, 
And  welcome  her,  their  second  Maya,  home. 
And  at  the  palace  gate  the  good  old  king 
Receives  her  with  such  loving  tenderness, 
As  fondest  mother,  sick  with  hope  deferred, 
Waiting  and  watching  for  an  absent  child, 
At  length  receives  him  in  her  open  arms. 


BOOK  III. 


AND  now  his  cup  with  every  blessing-  filled 
Full  to  the  brim,  to  overflowing-  full, 
What  more  has  life  to  give  or  heart  to  wish  ? 
Stately  in  form,  with  every  princely  grace, 
A  very  master  of  all  manly  arts, 
His  g-entle  manners  making-  all  his  friends, 
His  young-  blood  bounding-  on  in  healthful  flow, 
His  broad  domains  rich  in  all  earth  can  yield, 
Guarded  by  nature  and  his  people's  love, 
And  now  that  deepest  of  all  wants  supplied, 
The  want  of  one  to  share  each  inmost  thought, 
Whose  sympathy  can  soothe  each  inmost  smart, 
Whose  presence,  care  and  loving  touch  can  make 
The  palace  or  the  humblest  cottage  home, 
His  life  seemed  rounded,  perfect,  full,  complete. 
And  they  were  happy  as  the  da}rs  glide  on, 
And  when  at  night,  locked  in  each  other's  arms, 
They  sink  to  rest,  heart  beating  close  to  heart, 
Their  thoughts  all  innocence  and  trust  and  love, 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  remorseless  Time 
Had  backward  rolled  his  tide,  and  brought  again 
The  golden  age,  with  all  its  peace  and  joy, 

(50) 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — -BOOK  III.  51 

And  our  first  parents,  ere  the  tempter  came, 
Were  taking-  sweet  repose  in  paradise. 
But  as  one  night  they  slept,  a  troubled  dream 
Disturbed  the  prince.  He  dreamed  he  saw  one  come, 
As  young  and  fair  as  sweet  Yasodhara, 
But  clad  in  widow's  weeds,  and  in  her  arms 
A  lifeless  child,  crying  :  "  Most  mighty  prince  ! 
O  bring  me  back  my  husband  and  my  child  !" 
But  he  could  only  say  "  Alas  !  poor  soul  !" 
And  started  out  of  sleep  he  cried  "  Alas  !" 
Which  waked  the  sweet  Yasodhara,  who  asked, 
"  What  ails  my  love  ?"     "  Only  a  troubled  dream," 
The  prince  replied,  but  still  she  felt  him  tremble, 
And  kissed  and  stroked  his  troubled  brow, 
And  soothed  him  into  quiet  sleep  again. 
And  then  once  more  he  dreamed — a  pleasing  dream. 
He  dreamed  he  heard  strange  music,  soft  and  sweet; 
He  only  caught  its  burden  :  "  Peace,  be  still  !" 
And  then  he  thought  he  saw  far  off  a  light, 
And  there  a  place  where  all  was  peace  and  rest, 
And  waking  sighed  to  find  it  all  a  dream. 

One  day  this  happy  couple,  side  by  side, 
Rode  forth  alone,  Yasodhara  unveiled  — 
"For    why,"     said     she,     "should    those    whose 

thoughts  are  pure 

Like  guilty  things  hide  from  their  fellow-men?  "- 
Rode  through  the  crowded  streets,  their  only  guard 
The  people's  love,  strongest  and  best  of  guards  ; 
For  many  arms  would  spring  to  their  defense, 
While  some  grim  tyrant,  at  whose  stern  command 


52  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

A  million  swords  would  from  their  scabbards  leap, 

Cringes  in  terror  behind  bolts  and  bars, 

Starts  at  each  sound,  and  fears  some  hidden  mine 

May  into  atoms  blow  his  stately  towers, 

Or  that  some  hand  unseen  ma}'  strike  him  down, 

And  thinks  that  poison  lurks  in  every  cup, 

While  thousands  are  in  loathsome  dungeons  thrust 

Or  pine  in  exile  for  a  look  or  word. 

And  as  they  pass  along  from  street  to  street 

A  sea  of  happy  faces  lines  their  way, 

Their  joyful  greetings  answered  by  the  prince, 

No  face  once  seen,  no  name  once  heard,  forgot, 

While  sweet  Yasodhara  was  wreathed  in  smiles, 

The  kind  expression  of  her  gentle  heart, 

When  from  a  little  cottage  by  the  way, 

The  people  making  room  for  him  to  pass, 

There  came  an  aged  man,  so  very  old 

That  time  had  ceased  to  register  his  years  ; 

His  step  was  firm,  his  eye,  though  faded,  mild, 

And  childhood's  sweet  expression  on  his  face. 

The  prince  stopped  short  before  him,  bending  low, 

And  gently  asked  :  "  What  would  my  father  have? 

Speak  freely — what  I  can,  I  freely  give." 

"  Most  noble  prince,  I  need  no  charity, 

For  my  kind  neighbors  give  me  all  unasked, 

And  my  poor  cottage  where  my  fathers  dwelt, 

And  where  my  children  and  their  mother  died, 

Is  kept  as  clean  as  when  sweet  Gunga  lived  ; 

And  young  and  old  cheer  up  my  lonely  hours, 

And  ask  me  much  of  other  times  and  men. 

For  when  your  father's  father  was  a  child, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THB  CHRIST — BOOK  III.  53 

I  was  a  man,  as  young1  and  strong-  as  you, 

And  my  sweet  Gunga  your  companion's  age. 

But  O  the  mystery  of  life  explain  ! 

Why  are  we  born  to  tread  this  little  round, 

To  live,  to  love,  to  suffer,  sorrow,  die  ? 

Why  do  the  young  like  field-flowers  bloom  to  fade  ? 

Why  are  the  strong  like  the  mown  grass  cut  down? 

Why  am  I  left  as  if  by  death  forgot, 

Left  here  alone,  a  leafless,  fruitless  trunk  ? 

Is  death  the  end,  or  what  comes  after  death  ? 

Often  when  deepest  sleep  shuts  out  the  world, 

The  dead  still  seem  to  live,  while  life  fades  out ; 

And  when  I  sit  alone  and  long  for  light 

The  veil  seems  lifted,  and  I  seem  to  see 

A  world  of  life  and  light  and  peace  and  rest, 

No  sickness,  sin  or  sorrow,  pain  or  death, 

No  helpless  infancy  or  hopeless  age. 

But  we  poor  Sudras  cannot  understand  — 

Yet  from  my  earliest  memory  I've  heard 

That  from  this  hill  one  day  should  burst  a  light, 

Not  for  the  Brahmans  only,  but  for  all. 

And  when  you  were  a  child  I  saw  a  sage 

Bow  down  before  you,  calling  you  that  light. 

O  noble,  mighty  prince  !  let  your  light  shine, 

That  men  no  longer  grope  in  dark  despair  !" 

He  spoke,  and  sank  exhausted  on  the  ground. 
They  gently  raised  him,  but  his  life  was  fled. 
The  prince  gave  one  a  well-filled  purse  and  said  : 
"  Let  his  pile  neither  lack  for  sandal-wood 
Or  any  emblem  of  a  life  well  spent." 


54  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

And  when  fit  time  had  passed  they  bore  him  thence 
And  laid  him  on  that  couch  where  all  sleep  well, 
Half  hid  in  flowers  by  loving-  children  brought, 
A  smile  still  lingering'  on  his  still,  cold  lips, 
As  if  they  just  had  tasted  Gunga's  kiss, 
Soon  to  be  kissed  by  eager  whirling  flames. 

Just  then  two  stately  Brahmans  proudly  passed  — 
Passed  on  the  other  side,  gathering  their  robes 
To  shun  pollution  from  the  common  touch, 
And  passing  said  :  "  The  prince  with  Sudras  talks 
As  friend  to  friend  —  but  wisdom  comes  with  years." 

Silent  and  thoughtful  then  they  homeward  turned, 

The  prince  deep  musing  on  the  old  man's  words  : 

"  '  The  veil  is  lifted,  and  I  seem  to  see 

A  world  of  life  and  light  and  peace  and  rest.' 

O  if  that  veil  would  only  lift  for  me 

The  mystery  of  life  would  be  explained." 

As  they  passed  on  through  unfrequented  streets, 

Seeking  to  shun  the  busy,  thoughtless  throng, 

Those  other  words  like  duty's  bugle-call 

Still  ringing  in  his  ears  :  "  Let  your  light  shine, 

That  men  no  longer  grope  in  dark  despair  " 

The  old   sad  thoughts,   long  checked  by  passing 


Rolling  and  surging,  swept  his  troubled  soul  — 
As  pent-up  waters,  having  burst  their  dams, 
Sweep  down  the  valleys  and  o'erwhelm  the  plains. 

Just  then  an  aged,  angry  voice  cried  out  : 
"  O  help  !  they've  stolen  my  jewels  and  my  gold  !" 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  III.  55 

And  from  a  wretched  hovel  by  the  way 

An  old  man  came,  hated  and  shunned  by  all, 

Whose  life  was  spent  in  hoarding1  unused  gold, 

Grinding-  the  poor,  devouring"  widows'  homes  ; 

111  fed,  ill  clad,  from  eagerness  to  save, 

His  sunken  eyes  glittering1  with  rage  and  greed. 

And  when  the  prince  enquired  what  troubled  him  : 

"  Trouble  enough,"  he  said,   "  my  sons  have  fled 

Because  I  would  not  waste  in  dainty  fare 

And  rich  apparel  all  my  life  has  saved, 

And  taken  all  my  jewels,  all  my  gold. 

Would  that  they  both  lay  dead  before  my  face  ! 

O  precious  jewels  !     O  beloved  gold  !" 

The  prince,  helpless  to  soothe,  hopeless  to  cure 

This  rust  and  canker  of  the  soul,  passed  on, 

His  heart  with  all-embracing  pity  filled. 

"  O  deepening  mystery  of  life  !  "  he  cried, 

"  Why  do  such  souls  in  human  bodies  dwell  — 

Fitter  for  ravening  wolves  or  greedy  swine  ! 

Just  at  death's  door  cursing  his  flesh  and  blood 

For  thievish  greed  inherited  from  him. 

Is  this  old  age,  or  swinish  greed  grown  old  ? 

O  how  unlike  that  other  life  just  fled  ! 

His  youth's  companions,  wife  and   children,  dead, 

Yet  filled  with  love  for  all,  by  all  beloved, 

With  his  whole  heart  yearning  for  others'  good, 

With  his  last  breath  bewailing  others'  woes." 

"  My  best  beloved,"  said  sweet  Yasodhara, 

Her  bright  eyes  filled  with  sympathetic  tears, 

Her  whole  soul  yearning  for  his  inward  peace, 

"  Brood  not  too  much  on  life's  dark  mystery — 


56  THE   DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Behind  the  darkest  clouds  the  sun  still  shines." 

"But,"  said  the  prince,  "the  many  blindly  grope 

In  sorrow,  fear  and  ignorance  profound, 

While  their  proud  teachers,  with  their  heads  erect, 

Stalk  boldly  on,  blind  leaders  of  the  blind. 

Come  care,  come  fasting,  woe  and  pain  for  me, 

And  even  exile  from  my  own  sweet  home, 

All  would  I  welcome  could  I  give  them  light." 

"  But  would  you  leave  your  home,  leave  me,  leave  all, 

And  even  leave  our  unborn  pledge  of  love, 

The  living  blending  of  our  inmost  souls, 

That  now  within  me  stirs  to  bid  you  pause  ?  " 

"  Only  for  love  of  you  and  him  and  all ! 

0  hard  necessity  !  O  bitter  cup  ! 

But  would  }-ou  have  me  like  a  coward  shun 
The  path  of  duty,  though  beset  with  thorns  — 
Thorns  that  must  pierce  your  tender  feet  and  mine?  " 
Piercing  the  question  as  the  sharpest  sword  ; 
Their  love,  their  joys,  tempted  to  say  him  nay. 
But  soon  she  conquered  all  and  calmly  said  : 
"  My  love,  my  life,  where  duty  plainly  calls 

1  bid  you  go,  though  my  poor  heart  must  bleed, 
And  though  my  eyes  weep  bitter  scalding  tears." 

Their  hearts  too  full  for  words,  too  full  for  tears, 
Gently  he  pressed  her  hand  and  they  passed  home  ; 
And  in  the  presence  of  this  dark  unknown 
A  deep  and  all-pervading  tenderness 
Guides  every  act  and  tempers  every  tone  - 
As  in  the  chamber  of  the  sick  and  loved 
The  step  is  light,  the  voice  is  soft  and  low. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  III.  57 

But  soon  their  days  with  varied  duties  filled, 
Their  nights  with  sweet  repose,  glide  smoothly  on, 
Until  this  shadow  seems  to  lift  and  fade  — 
As  when  the  sun  bursts  through  the  passing- storm, 
Gilding  the  glittering  raindrops  as  they  fall, 
And  paints  the  bow  of  hope  on  passing  clouds. 
Yet  still  the  old  sad  thoughts  sometimes  return, 
The  burden  of  a  duty  unperformed, 
The  earnest  yearning  for  a  clearer  light. 
The  thought  that  hour  by  hour  and  day  by  day 
The  helpless  multitudes  grope  blindly  on, 
Clouded  his  joys  and  often  banished  sleep. 

One  day  in  this  sad  mood  he  thought  to  see 
His  people  as  they  are  in  daily  life, 
And  not  in  holiday  attire  to  meet  their  prince. 
In  merchant's  dress,  his  charioteer  his  clerk, 
The  prince  and  Channa  passed  unknown,  and  saw 
The  crowded  streets  alive  with  busy  hum, 
Traders  cross-legged,  with  their  varied  wares, 
The  wordy  war  to  cheapen  or  enhance, 
One  rushing  on  to  clear  the  streets  for  wains 
With   huge   stone   wheels,    by   slow   strong   oxen 

drawn  ; 

Palanquin-bearers  droning  out  "Hu,  hu,  ho,  ho," 
While  keeping  step  and  praising  him  they  bear  ; 
The  housewives  from  the  fountain  water  bring 
In  balanced  water-jars,  their  black-eyed  babes 
Athwart  their  hips,  their  busy  tongues  meanwhile 
Engaged  in  gossip  of  the  little  things 
That  make  the  daily  round  of  life  to  them  ; 


58  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

The  skillful  weaver  at  his  clumsy  loom  ; 
The  miller  at  his  millstones  grinding  meal ; 
The  armorer,  linking  his  shirts  of  mail ; 
The  money-changer  at  his  heartless  trade  ; 
The  gaping,  eager  crowd  gathered  to  watch 
Snake-charmers,  that  can  make  their  deadly  charge 
Dance  harmless  to  the  drone  of  beaded  gourds ; 
Sword-players,  keeping"  many  knives  in  air  ; 
Jugglers,    and  those  that  dance  on   ropes  swung1 

high  : 

And  all  this  varied  work  and  busy  idleness 
As  in  a  panorama  passing1  by. 

While  they  were  passing  through  these  varied 

scenes, 
The  prince,  whose  ears  were  tuned   to   life's   sad 

notes, 

Whose  eyes  were  quick  to  catch  its  deepest  shades. 
Found  sorrow,  pain  and  want,  disease  and  death, 
Were  woven  in  its  very  warp  and  woof. 
A  tiger,  spring-ing  from  a  sheltering  bush, 
Had  snatched  a  merchant's  comrade  from  his  side  ; 
A  deadly  cobra,  hidden  by  the  path, 
Had  stung  to  death  a  widow's  only  son  ; 
A  breath  of  jungle-wind  a  youth's  blood  chilled, 
Or  filled  a  strong  man's  bones  with  piercing  pain  ; 
A  household  widowed  by  a  careless  step  ; 
The  quick  cross-lightning  from  an  angry  cloud 
Struck    down    a    bridegroom    bringing    home    his 

bride  — 
All  this  and  more  he  heard,  and  much  he  saw  : 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  III.  59 

A  young-  man,  stricken  in  life's  early  prime, 
Shuffled  along,  dragging  one  palsied  limb, 
While  one  limp  arm  hung-  useless  by  his  side  ; 
A  dwarf  sold  little  knickknacks  by  the  way, 
His  body  scarcely  in  the  human  form, 
To  which  long-  arms  and  leg's  seemed  loosely  hung-, 
His  noble  head  thrust  forward  on  his  breast, 
Whose  pale,  sad  face  as  plainly  told  as  words 
That  life  had  neither  health  nor  hope  for  him  ; 
An  old  man  tottering-  from  a  hovel  came, 
Frail,  hag-g-ard,  palsied,  leaning-  on  a  staff, 
Whose  eyes,   dull,  g-lazed    and    meaning-less,   pro 
claim 

The  body  lingers  when  the  mind  has  fled ; 
One  seized  with  sudden  hot  distemper  of  the  blood, 
Writhing-  with  anguish,  by  the  wayside  sunk. 
The  purple  plague-spot  on  his  pallid  cheek, 
Cold  drops  of  perspiration  on  his  brow, 
With  wildly  rolling  eyes  and  livid  lips, 
Gasping  for  breath  and  feebly  asking  help  — 
But  ere  the  prince  could  aid,  death  gave  relief. 

At  length  they  passed  the  city's  outer  gate 
And  down  a  stream,  now  spread  in  shining  pools. 
Now  leaping  in  cascades,  now  dashing  on, 
A  line  of  foam  along  its  rocky  bed, 
Bordered  by  giant  trees  with  densest  shade. 
Here,  day  by  day,  the  city  bring  their  dead  ; 
Here,  day  by  day,  they  build  the  funeral-piles  ; 
Here  lamentations  daily  fill  the  air  ; 
Here  hissing  flames  each  day  taste  human  flesh. 


60  THE  DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

And  friendly  watchmen  guard  the  smoldering*  pile 

Till  friends  can  cull  the  relics  from  the  dust. 

And  here,  just  finished,  rose  a  noble  pile 

By  stately  Brahmans  for  a  Brahman  built 

Of  fragrant  woods,   and  drenched  with   fragrant 

oils, 

Loading  the  air  with  every  sweet  perfume 
That  India's  forests  or  her  fields  can  yield  ; 
Above,  a  couch  of  sacred  cusa-grass, 
On  which  no  dreams  disturb  the  sleeper's  rest. 
And  now  the  sound  of  music  reaches  them. 
Far  off  at  first,  solemn  and  sad  and  slow, 
Rising  and  swelling  as  it  nearer  comes, 
Until  a  long  procession  comes  in  view. 
Four  Brahmans  first,  bearing  in  bowls  the  fire 
No  more  to  burn  on  one  deserted  hearth. 
Then  stately  Brahmans  on  their  shoulders  bore 
A  noble  brother  of  their  sacred  caste, 
In  manhood's  bloom  and  early  prime  cut  down. 
Then  Brahman  youth,  bearing  a  little  child 
Half  hid  in  flowers,  and  as  in  seeming  sleep. 
Then  other  Brahmans  in  a  litter  bore 
One  young  and  fair,  in  early  womanhood, 
Her  youthful  beauty  joined  with  matron  grace, 
In  bridal  dress  adorned  with  costly  gems  — 
The  very  face  the  prince  had  dreaming  seen, 
The  very  child  she  carried  in  her  arms. 
Then  many  more,  uncovered,  -four  by  four, 
The  aged  first,  then  those  in  manhood's  prime, 
And  then  the  young  with  many  acolytes 
Chanting  in  unison  their  sacred  hymns, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  III.  61 

Accompanied  by  many  instruments, 

Both  wind  and  string1,  in  solemn  symphony  ; 

And  at  respectful  distance  other  castes, 

Afraid  to  touch  a  Brahman's  sacred  robes 

Or  even  mingle  with  his  grief  their  tears. 

And  when  they  reached  the  fragrant  funeral-pile, 

Weeping  they  placed  their  dead  on  their  last  couch, 

The  child  within  its  father's  nerveless  arms ; 

And  when  all  funeral  rites  had  been  performed. 

The  widow  circled  thrice  the  funeral-pile, 

Distributing  her  gifts  with  lavish  hand, 

Bidding  her  friends  a  long  and  last  farewell  — 

Then  stopped,  and  raised  her  tearless  eyes  and  said: 

"  Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  life  and  friends! 

Farewell  !    O  earth  and  air  and  sacred  sun! 

Nanda,  my  lord,  Udra,  my  child,  I  come  ! " 

Then  pale  but  calm,  with  fixed  ecstatic  gaze 

And  steady  steps  she  mounts  the  funeral-pile, 

Crying,  "  They  beckon  me  !  I  come  !  I  come  !  " 

Then  sunk  as  if  the  silver  cord  were  loosed 

As  still  as  death  upon  her  silent  dead. 

Instant  the  flames  from  the  four  corners  leaped, 

Mingling  in  one  devouring,  eager  blaze. 

No  groan,  no  cry,  only  the  crackling  flames, 

The  wailing  notes  of  many  instruments, 

And  solemn  chant  by  many  voices  raised, 

"  Perfect  is  she  who  follows  thus  her  lord." 

O  dark  and  cruel  creeds,  O  perfect  love, 

Fitter  for  heaven  than  this  sad  world  of  ours  ! 

More  than  enough  the  prince  had  seen  and  heard. 


62  THE   DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Bowed  by  the  grievous  burdens  others  bore, 
Feeling-  for  others'  sorrows  as  his  own, 
Tears  of  divinest  pity  filled  his  eyes 
And  deep  and  all-embracing-  love  his  heart. 
Home  he  returned,  no  more  to  find  its  rest. 

But  soon  a  lig-ht  shines  in  that  troubled  house- 
A  son  is  born  to  sweet  Yasodhara. 
Their  eyes  saw  not,  neither  do  ours,  that  sun 
Whose  lig-ht  is  wisdom  and  whose  heat  is  love, 
Sending-  throug-h  nature  waves  of  living-  lig-ht, 
Giving-  its  life  to  everything  that  lives, 
Which  throug-h  the  innocence  of  little  ones 
As  through  wide-open  windows  sends  his  rays 
To  lig-ht  the  darkest,  warm  the  coldest  heart. 
Sweet  infancy  !  life's  solace  and  its  rest, 
Driving-  away  the  loneliness  of  age, 
Wreathing-  in  smiles  the  wrinkled  brow  of  care, 
Nectar  to  joyful,  balm  to  troubled  hearts. 
Joyful  once  more  is  King  Suddhodana  ; 
A  placid  joy  beams  from  that  mother's  face  ; 
Joy  lit  the  palace,  flew  from  street  to  street, 
And  from  the  city  over  hill  and  plain ; 
Joy  filled  the  prince's  agitated  soul  — 
He  felt  a  power,  from  whence  he  could  not  tell. 
Drawing-  away,  he  knew  not  where  it  led. 
He  knew  the  dreaded  separation  near, 
Yet  half  its  pain  and  bitterness  was  passed. 
He  need  not  leave  his  loved  ones  comfortless  — 
His  loving-  people  still  would  have  their  prince, 
The  king-  in  young  Rahula  have  his  son, 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THB  CHRIST— BOOK  III.  63 

And  sweet  Yasodhara,  his  very  life, 
Would  have  that  nearest,  dearest  comforter 
To  soothe  her  cares  and  drive  away  her  tears.* 

But  now  strange  dreams  disturb  the  good  old  king- — 
Dreams  starting  him  in  terror  from  his  sleep, 
Yet  seeming1  prophecies  of  coming-  g-ood. 
He  dreamed  he  saw  the  Hag-  his  fathers  loved 
In  tatters  torn  and  trailing  in  the  dust, 
But  in  its  place  another  g-lorious  flag1, 
Whose  silken  folds  seemed  woven  thick  with  g-ems 
That  as  it  waved  g-littered  with  dazzling-  lig-ht. 
He  dreamed  he  saw  proud  embassies  from  far 
Bringing  the  crowns  and  scepters  of  the  earth, 
Bowing-  in  reverence  before  the  prince, 
Humbly  entreating  him  to  be  their  king  — 
From  whom  he  fled  in  haste  as  if  in  fear. 
Then  dreamed  he  saw  his  son  in  tattered  robes 
Beg-ging  from  Sudras  for  his  daily  bread. 
Again,  he  dreamed  he  saw  the  ancient  tower 
Where  he  in  worship  had  so  often  knelt, 
Rising-  and  shining-  clothed  with  living-  light, 
And  on  its  top  the  prince,  beaming-  with  love, 
Scattering-  with  lavish  hand  the  richest  g-ems 
On  eager  crowds  that  caught  them  as  they  fell. 
But  soon  it  vanished,  and  he  saw  a  hill, 
Rugged  and  bleak,  cliff  crowned  and  bald  and  bare, 

*  In  the  "  Lt'ight  of  Asia  "  the  prince  is  made  to  leave  his  younjf  wife 
before  the  birth  of  their  son,  saying' : 

"  Whom,  if  I  wait  to  bless,  my  heart  will  fail," 

—a  piece  of  cowardice  hardly  consistent  with   my  conception  of   that 
brave  and  self-denying'  character. 


64  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

And  there  he  saw  the  prince,  kneeling-  alone, 
Wasted  with  cruel  fasting's  till  his  bones 
Clave  to  his  skin,  and  in  his  sunken  eyes 
With  fitful  flicker  gleamed  the  lamp  of  life 
Until  they  closed,  and  on  the  ground  he  sank, 
As  if  in  death  or  in  a  deadly  swoon  ; 
And  then  the  hill  sank  to  a  spreading1  plain, 
Stretching-  beyond  the  keenest  vision's  ken, 
Covered  with  multitudes  as  numberless 
As  ocean's  sands  or  autumn's  forest  leaves  ; 
And  mounted  on  a  giant  elephant, 
White  as  the  snows  on  Himalaya's  peaks, 
The  prince  rode  through  their  midst  in  royal  state, 
And  as  he  moved  along-  he  heard  a  shout, 
Rising-  and  swelling-,  like  the  mig-hty  voice 
Of  many  waters  breaking-  on  the  shore  : 
"All  hail  !  great  Chakravartin,  king-  of  king-s  ! 
Hail  !    king-    of    righteousness !     Hail !  prince    of 
peace ! " 

Strange  dreams  !     Where  is    their  birthplace  — 

where  their  home  ? 

Lighter  than  foam  upon  the  crested  wave, 
Fleeter  than  shadows  of  the  passing  cloud, 
They  are  of  such  fantastic  substance  made 
That   quick   as  thought   they  change  their  fickle 

forms  — 

Now  grander  than  the  waking  vision  views, 
Now  stranger  than  the  wildest  fancy  feigns, 
And  now  so  grim  and  terrible  they  start 
The  hardened  conscience  from  its  guilty  sleep. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  III.  65 

In  troops  they  come,  trooping-  they  fly  away, 
Waved  into  being-  by  the  magic  wand 
Of  some  deep  purpose  of  the  inmost  soul, 
Some  hidden  joy  or  sorrow,  g-uilt  or  fear  — 
Or  better,  as  the  wise  of  old  believed, 
Called  into  being-  by  some  heavenly  g-uest 
To  soothe,  to  warn,  instruct  or  terrify. 

Strang-e  dreams  by  nig-ht  and  troubled  thoug-hts 

by  day 

Disturb  the  prince  and  banish  quiet  sleep. 
He  dreamed  that  darkness,  visible  and  dense, 
Shrouded  the  heavens  and  brooded  o'er  the  earth, 
Whose  rayless,  formless,  vacant  nothing-ness 
Curdled  his  blood  and  made  his  eyeballs  ache  ; 
When  suddenly  from  out  this  empty  void 
A  cloud,  shining  with  g-olden  lig-ht,  was  borne 
By  g-entle  winds,  loaded  with  sweet  perfumes, 
Sweeter  than  spring-time  on  this  earth  can  yield. 
The  cloud  passed  just  above  him,  and  he  saw 
Myriads  of  cherub  faces  looking-  down, 
Sweet  as  Rahula,  freed  from  earthly  stain  ; 
Such  faces  mortal  brush  could  never  paint  - 
Enraptured  Raphael  ne'er  such  faces  saw. 
But  still  the  outer  darkness  hovered  near, 
And  ever  and  anon  a  bony  hand 
Darts  out  to  snatch  some  cherub  face  away. 
Then  dreamed  he  saw  a  broad  and  pleasant  land, 
With  cities,  g-ardens,  groves  and  fruitful  fields, 
Where  bee-fed  flowers  half  hide  the  ripening-  fruits. 
And  spicy  breezes  stir  the  trembling-  leaves, 


66  THE  DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OB 

And  many  birds  make  sweetest  melody, 

But  bordered  by  a  valley  black  as  night, 

That  ever  vomits  from  its  sunless  depths 

Great  whirling  clouds  of  suffocating-  smoke, 

Blacker  than  hide  the  burning  ^Etna's  head, 

Blacker  than  over  Lake  Avernus  hung  ; 

No  bird  could  fly  above  its  fatal  fumes  ; 

Eagles,  on  tireless  pinions  upward  borne, 

In  widening  circles  rising  toward  the  sun, 

Venturing  too  near  its  exhalations,  fall, 

As  sinks  the  plummet  in  the  silent  sea ; 

And  lions,  springing  on  their  antlered  prey, 

Drop  still  and  lifeless  on  its  deadly  brink  ; 

Only  the  jackal's  dismal  howl  is  heard 

To  break  its  stillness  and  eternal  sleep. 

He  was  borne  forward  to  the  very  verge 

Of  this  dark  valley,  by  some  power  unseen. 

A  wind  that  pierced  his  marrow  parts  the  clouds. 

And  far  within,  below  he  saw  a  sight 

That  stood  his  hair  on  end,  beaded  his  brow 

With  icy  drops,  and  made  his  blood  run  cold  : 

He  saw  a  lofty  throne,  blacker  than  jet, 

But  shining  with  a  strange  and  baleful  light 

That  made  him  shade  his  blinded,  dazzled  eyes, 

And  seated  on  that  throne  a  ghastly  form 

That  seemed  a  giant  human  skeleton, 

But  yet  in  motion  terrible  and  quick 

As  lightning,  killing  ere  the  thunders  roll ; 

His  fleshless  skull  had  on  a  seeming  crown, 

While  from  his  sunken  sockets  glared  his  eyes 

Like  coals  of  fire  or  eyes  of  basilisk, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  III.  67 

And  from  his  bony  hand  each  instant  flew 
Unerring"  darts  that  flew  to  pierce  and  kill, 
Piercing1  the  infant  in  its  mother's  arms, 
The  mother  when  she  feels  her  first-born's  breath, 
Piercing1  the  father  in  his  happy  home, 
Piercing-  the  lover  tasting-  love's  first  kiss, 
Piercing-  the  vanquished  when  his  banners  fall, 
Piercing-  the  victor  'mid  triumphant  shouts, 
Piercing-  the  mig-hty  monarch  on  his  throne  ; 
While  from  a  towering-  cypress  growing-  near 
Every  disease  to  which  frail  flesh  is  heir 
Like  ravening-  vultures  watch  each  arrow's  flight, 
And  quick  as  thoug-ht  glide  off  on  raven's  wing's 
To  bring-  the  wounded,  writhing-  victim  in  — 
As  well-trained  hunters  mark  their  master's  aim, 
Then  fly  to  bring-  the  wounded  quarry  home. 
Meanwhile  a  stifling-  stench  rose  from  below  — 
As  from  a  battle-field  where  nations  met 
And  fiery  ranks  of  living-  valor  foug-ht, 
Now  food  for  vultures,  moldering-  cold  and  low  — 
And  bleaching-  bones  were  scattered  everywhere. 

Startled  he  wakes  and  rises  from  his  couch. 
The  lamps  shine  down  with  soft  and  mellow  light. 
The  fair  Yasodhara  still  lay  in  sleep, 
But  not  in  quiet  sleep.     Her  bosom  heaved 
As  if  a  sigh  were  seeking  to  escape  ; 
Her  brows  were  knit  as  if  in  pain  or  fear, 
And  tears  were  stealing  from  her  close-shut  lids. 
But  sweet  Rahula  slept,  and  sleeping  smiled 
As  if  he  too  those  cherub  faces  saw. 


68  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

In  haste  alone  he  noiselessly  stole  forth 

To  wander  in  the  park,  and  cool  his  brow 

And  calm  his  burdened,  ag-itated  soul. 

The  nig-ht  had  reached  that  hour  preceding-  dawn 

When  nature  seems  in  solemn  silence  hushed, 

Awed  by  the  g-lories  of  the  coming1  day. 

The  moon  hung-  low  above  the  western  plains  ; 

Unnumbered  stars  with  double  brig-htness  shine, 

And  half-transparent  mists  the  landscape  veil, 

Throug-h   which  the  mountains   in  dim   grandeur 

rise. 

Silent,  alone  he  crossed  the  maidan  wide 
Where  first  he  saw  the  sweet  Yasodhara, 
Where  joyful  multitudes  so  often  met, 
Now  still  as  that  dark  valley  of  his  dream. 
He  passed  the  lake,  mirror  of  heaven's  hig-h  vault, 
Whose  ruffled  waters  ripple  on  the  shore, 
Stirred  by  cool  breezes  from  the  snow-capped  peaks  ; 
And  heedless  of  his  way  passed  on  and  up, 
Throug-h  giant  cedars  and  the  lofty  pines, 
Over  a  leafy  carpet,  velvet  soft, 
While  solemn  voices  from  their  branches  sound, 
Strang-ely  in  unison  with  his  sad  soul ; 
And  on  and  up  until  he  reached  a  spot 
Above  the  trees,  above  the  mist-wrapped  world, 
Where  opening-  chasms  yawned  on  every  side. 
Perforce  he  stopped  ;  and,  roused  from  revery, 
Gazed  on  the  dark  and  silent  world  below. 
The  moon  had  sunk  from  sig-ht,  the  stars  grew  dim, 
And  densest  darkness  veiled  the  sleeping-  world, 
When  suddenly  brig-ht  beams  of  rosy  lig-ht 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  III.  69 

Shot  up  the  east  ;  the  highest  mountain-top 
Glittered  as  if  both  land  and  sea  had  joined 
Their  richest  jewels  and  most  costly  gems 
To  make  its  crown  ;  from  mountain-peak  to  peak 
The  brightness  spread,  and  darkness  slunk  away, 
Until  between  two  giant  mountain-tops 
Glittered  a  wedge  of  gold  ;  the  hills  were  tinged, 
And  soon  the  sun  flooded  the  world  with  light 
As  when  the  darkness  heard  that  first  command  : 
"  Let  there  be  light !  "  and  light  from  chaos  shone. 
Raptured  he  gazed  upon  the  glorious  scene. 
"And  can  it  be,"  he  said,  "with  floods  of  light 
Filling  the  blue  and  boundless  vault  above, 
Bathing  in  brightness  mountain,  hill  and  plain, 
Sending  its  rays  to  ocean's  hidden  depths, 
With  light  for  bird  and  beast  and  creeping  thing, 
Light  for  all  eyes,  oceans  of  light  to  spare, 
That  man  alone  from  outer  darkness  comes, 
Gropes  blindly  on  his  brief  and  restless  round. 
And  then  in  starless  darkness  disappears  ? 
There  must  be  light,  fountains  of  living  light, 
For  which  my  thirsty  spirit  pining  pants 
As  pants  the  hunted  hart  for  water-brooks  — 
Another  sun,  lighting  a  better  world, 
Where  weary  souls  may  find  a  welcome  rest. 
Gladly  I'd  climb  yon  giddy  mountain-heights, 
Or  gladly  take  the  morning's  wings  and  fly 
To  earth's  remotest  bounds,  if  light  were  there. 
Welcome  to  me  the  hermit's  lonely  cell, 
And  welcome  dangers,  labors,  fastings,  pains  — 
All  would  be  welcome  could  I  bring  the  light 


70  THE   DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

To  myriads  now  in  hopeless  darkness  sunk. 
Farewell  to  kingdom,  comforts,  home  and  friends  ! 
All  will  I  leave  to  seek  this  glorious  light." 
The  die  is  cast,  the  victor}'  is  gained. 
Though  love  of  people,  parent,  wife  and  child, 
Half  selfish,  half  divine,  may  bid  him  pause, 
A  higher  love,  unselfish,  all  divine, 
For  them  and  every  soul,  bade  him  go  forth 
To  seek  for  light,  and  seek  till  light  be  found. 
Home  he  returned,  now  strong  to  say  farewell. 

Meanwhile  the  sweet  Yasodhara  still  slept, 
And  dreamed  she  saw  Siddartha's  empty  couch. 
She  dreamed  she  saw  him  flying  far  away, 
And  when  she  called  to  him  he  answered  not, 
But  only  stopped  his  ears  and  faster  flew 
Until  he  seemed  a  speck,  and  then  was  gone. 
And  then  she  heard  a  mighty  voice  cry  out : 
"  The  time  has  come  —  his  glory  shall  appear  !  " 
Waked  by  that  voice,  she  found  his  empty  couch, 
Siddartha  gone,  and  with  him  every  joy  ; 
But  not  all  joy,  for  there  Rahula  la}', 
With  great  wide-open  eyes  and  cherub  smile, 
Watching  the  lights  that  flickered  on  the  wall. 
Caught  in  her  arms  she  pressed  him  to  her  heart 
To  still  its  tumult  and  to  ease  its  pain. 

But  now  that  step  she  knew  so  well  is  heard. 
Siddartha  comes,  filled  with  unselfish  love 
Until  his  face  beamed  with  celestial  light 
That  like  a  holy  halo  crowned  his  head. 


THK    BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHKIST — BOOK  III.  71 

Gently  he  spoke  :     "  My  dearest  and  ray  best, 

The  time  has  come  —  the  time  when  we  must  part. 

Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled  —  it  is  best." 

This  said,  a  tender  kiss  spoke  to  her  heart, 

In  love's  own  language,  of  unchanging  love. 

When  sweet  Rahula  stretched  his  little  arms, 

And  cooing  asked  his  share  of  tenderness, 

Siddartha  from  her  bosom  took  their  boy, 

And  though  sore  troubled,  both  together  smiled, 

And  with  him  playing,  that  sweet  jargon  spoke. 

Which,  though  no  lexicon  contains  its  words, 

Seems  like  the  speech  of  angels,  poorly  learned, 

For  ever}*  sound  and  syllable  and  word 

Was  filled  brimful  of  pure  and  perfect  love. 

At  length  grown  calm,  they  tenderly  communed 

Of  all  their  past,  of  all  their  hopes  and  fears ; 

And  when  the  time  of  separation  came, 

His  holy  resolution  gave  her  strength 

To  give  the  last  embrace  and  say  farewell. 

And  forth  he  rode,*  mounted  on  Kantaka, 

A  prince,  a  loving  father,  husband,  son, 

To  exile  driven  by  all-embracing  love. 


*  In  the  "  Light  of  Asia,"  the  prince,  after  leaving  his  young  wife,  is 
made  to  pass  through  a  somewhat  extensive  harem  en  deskatille,  which 
is  described  with  voluptuous  minuteness.  Although  there  are  some 
things  in  later  Buddhistic  literature  that  seem  to  justify  it,  I  can  but 
regard  the  introduction  of  an  institution  so  entirely  alien  to  every  age, 
form  and  degree  of  Aryan  civilization  and  so  inconsistent  with  the 
tender  conjugal  love  which  was  the  strongest  tie  to  his  beloved  home, 
.as  a  serious  blot  on  that  beautiful  poem  and  as  inconsistent  with  its 
whole  theory,  for  no  prophet  ever  came  from  a  harem. 


72  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY. 

What  wonder,  as  the  ancient  writings  say, 
That  nature  to  her  inmost  depths  was  stirred, 
And  as  he  passed  the  birds  burst  forth  in  song-, 
Fearless  of  hawk  or  kite  that  hovered  near  ? 
What  wonder  that  the  beasts  of  field  and  wood, 
And  all  the  jungle's  savage  denizens, 
Gathered  in  groups  and  gamboled  fearlessly, 
Leopards   with    kids    and   wolves   with    skipping 

lambs  ? 

For  he  who  rode  alone,  bowed  down  and  sad, 
Taug-ht  millions,  crores*  of  millions,  yet  unborn 
To  treat  with  kindness  every  living1  thing-. 
What  wonder  that  the  deepest  hells  were  stirred  ? 
What  wonder  that  the  heavens  were  filled  with  joy  ? 
For  he,  bowed  down  with  sorrow,  going-  forth, 
Shall  come  with  joy  and  teach  all  men  the  way 
From  earth's  sad  turmoil  to  Nirvana's  rest. 

*  A  crore  is  ten  millions. 


BOOK  IV. 


FAR  from  his  kingdom,  far  from  home  and  friends, 
The  prince  has  gone,  his  flowing-  locks  close  shorn, 
His  rings  and  soft  apparel  laid  aside, 
All  signs  of  rank  and  royalty  cast  off. 
Clothed  in  a  yellow  robe,  simple  and  coarse, 
Through  unknown   streets  from  door  to  door  he 

passed, 

Holding  an  alms-bowl  forth  for  willing  gifts. 
But  when,  won  by  his  stateliness  and  grace, 
They  brought  their  choicest  stores,  he  gently  said  : 
' '  Not  so,  my  friends,  keep  such  for  those  who  need  — 
The  sick  and  old  ;  give  me  but  common  food." 
And  when  sufficient  for  the  day  was  given, 
He  took  a  way  leading  without  the  walls, 
And  through   rich  gardens,  through  the  fruitful 

fields, 

Under  dark  mangoes  and  the  jujube  trees, 
Eastward  toward  Sailagiri,  hill  of  gems  ; 
And  through  an  ancient  grove,  skirting  its  base, 
Where,  soothed  by  every  soft  and  tranquil  sound, 
Full  many  saints  were  wearing  out  their  days 
In  meditation,  earnest,  deep,  intent, 

(73) 


74  THE    DAWX   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Seeking"  to  solve  the  mystery  of  life, 

Seeking-,  by  leaving  all  its  joys  and  cares, 

Seeking-,  by  doubling-  all  its  woes  and  pains, 

To  gain  an  entrance  to  eternal  rest  ; 

And  winding-  up  its  rug-ged  sides,  to  where 

A  shoulder  of  the  mountain,  sloping  west, 

O'erhangs  a  cave  with  wild  figs  canopied. 

This  mountain  cave  was  now  his  dwelling-place, 

A  stone  his  pillow,  and  the  earth  his  bed, 

His  earthen  alms-bowl  holding  all  his  stores 

Except  the  crystal  waters,  murmuring  near. 

A  lonely  path,  rugged,  and  rough,  and  steep  ; 

A  lonely  cave,  its  stillness  only  stirred 

By  eagle's  scream,  or  raven's  solemn  croak, 

Or  by  the  distant  city's  softened  sounds, 

Save  when  a  sudden  tempest  breaks  above, 

And  rolling  thunders  shake  the  trembling  hills  — 

A  path  since  worn  by  countless  pilgrims'  feet, 

Coming  from  far  to  view  this  hallowed  spot, 

And  bow  in  worship  on  his  hard,  cold  bed, 

And  press  his  pillow  with  their  loving  lips. 

For  here,  for  six  long  years,  the  world-renowned, 

The  tender  lover  of  all  living  things, 

Fasted  and  watched  and  wrestled  for  the  light, 

Less  for  himself  than  for  a  weeping  world. 

And  here  arrived,  he  ate  his  simple  meal, 

And  then  in  silent  meditation  sat 

The  livelong  da}-,  heedless  of  noon's  fierce  heat 

That  sent  to  covert  birds  and  panting  beasts, 

And  from  the  parched  and  glowing  plain  sent  up, 

As  from  a  furnace,  gusts  of  scorching  air, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THR  CHRIST — BOOK  IV.  75 

Through  which    the  city's  walls,   the    rocks    and 

trees. 

All  seemed  to  tremble,  quiver,  glow  and  shake, 
As  if  a  palsy  shook  the  trembling-  world  ; 
Heedless  of  loosened  rocks  that  crashed  so  near, 
And  dashed  and  thundered  to  the  depths  below, 
And  of  the  shepherds,  who  with  wondering-  awe 
Came  near  to  gaze  upon  his  noble  form 
And  g-entle,  loving-  but  majestic  face, 
And  thought  some  god  had  deigned  to  visit  men. 
And  thus  he  sat,  still  as  the  rock  his  seat, 
Seeking  to  pierce  the  void  from  whence  man  came, 
To  look  beyond  the  veil  that  shuts  him  in, 
To  find  a  clue  to  life's  dark  labyrinth, 
Seeking  to  know  why  man  is  cast  adrift 
Upon  the  bosom  of  a  troubled  sea, 
His  boat  so  frail,  his  helm  and  compass  lost, 
To  sink  at  last  in  dull  oblivion's  depths  ; 
When  nature  seems  so  perfect  and  complete, 
Grand  as  a  whole,  and  perfect  all  its  parts, 
Which  from  the  greatest  to  the  least  proclaims 
That  Wisdom,  Watchfulness,  and  Power  and  Love 
Which    built    the    mountains,    spread    the    earth 

abroad, 

And  fixed  the  bounds  that  ocean  cannot  pass  ; 
Which  taught  the  seasons  their  accustomed  rounds, 
Lest  seed-time  and  the  happy  harvests  fail  ; 
Which  guides  the  stars  in  their  celestial  course, 
And  guides  the  pigeon's  swift  unerring  flight 
O'er  mountain,  sea  and  plain  and  desert  waste, 
Straight  as  an  arrow  to  her  distant  home  ; 


76  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Teaching-  the  ant  for  winter  to  prepare  ; 
Clothing1  the  lily  in  its  princely  pride  ; 
Watching-  the  tiny  sparrow  when  it  falls  ; 
Nothing  too  great  for  His  almighty  arm  ; 
Nothing-  too  small  for  His  all-seeing-  eye  ; 
Nothing  too  mean  for  His  paternal  care. 

And  thus  he  mused,  seeking  to  find  a  light 
To  guide  men  on  their  dark  and  weary  way. 
And  through  the  valley  and  the  shades  of  death, 
Until  the  g-lories  of  the  setting-  sun 
Called  him  to  vespers  and  his  evening  meal. 

Then  roused  from  revery,  ablutions  made, 
Eight  times  he  bowed,  just  as  the  setting  sun, 
A  fiery  red,  sunk  slowly  out  of  sight 
Beyond  the  western  plains,  gilded  and  ting-ed, 
Misty  and  vast,  beneath  a  brilliant  sky, 
Shaded  from  brig-litest  g-old  to  softest  rose. 
Then,  after  supper,  back  and  forth  he  paced 
Upon  the  narrow  rock  before  his  cave, 
Seeking-  to  ease  his  numbed  and  stiffened  limbs  ; 
While  evening's  sombre  shadows  slowly  crept 
From  plain  to  hill  and  highest  mountain-top, 
And  solemn  silence  settled  on  the  world, 
Save  for  the  night-jar's  cry  and  owl's  complaint  ; 
While  many  lights  from  out  the  city  gleam, 
And  thickening-  stars  spangle  the  azure  vault, 
Until  the  moon,  with  soft  and  silvery  light, 
Half  veils  and  half  reveals  the  sleeping  world. 
And  then  he  slept —  for  wear}'  souls  must  sleep. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  IV.  77 

As  well  as  bodies  worn  with  daily  toil  ; 

And  as  he  lay  stretched  on  his  hard,  cold  bed, 

His  youthful  blood  again  bounds  freely  on, 

Repairing1  wastes  the  weary  day  had  made. 

And  then  he  dreamed.     Sometimes  he  dreamed  of 

home, 

Of  young  Rahula,  reaching  out  his  arms, 
Of  sweet  Yasodhara  with  loving-  words 
Cheering-  him  on,  as  love  alone  can  cheer. 
Sometimes  he  dreamed  he  saw  that  living-  lig-ht 
For  which  his  earnest  soul  so  long-  had  yearned - 
But  over  hills  and  mountains  far  away. 
And  then  he  seemed  with  labored  steps  to  climb 
Down  giddy  cliffs,  far  harder  than  ascent, 
While  yawning-  chasms  threatened  to  devour, 
And  beetling-  cliffs  precluded  all  retreat ; 
But  still  the  way  seemed  opening-  step  by  step, 
Until  he  reached  the  valley's  lowest  depths, 
Where   twilig-ht   reig-ned,    and   grim   and  g-hastly 

forms, 

With  flaming-  swords,  obstruct  his  onward  way, 
But  his  all-conquering-  love  still  urg-ed  him  on, 
When  with  wild  shrieks  they  vanished  in  thin  air; 
And  then  he  climbed,  cling-ing-  to  jutting-  cliffs, 
And  stunted  trees  that  from  each  crevice  grew, 
Till  weary,  breathless,  he  reg-ained  the  heights, 
To  see  that  light  nearer,  but  still  so  far. 

And    thus    he    slept,     and    thus    sometimes   he 

dreamed, 
But  rose  before  the  dawn  had  tinged  the  east, 


78  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Before  the  jungle-cock  had  made  his  call, 
When  thoughts  are  clearest,  and  the  world  is  still, 
Refreshed  and  strengthened  for  his  daily  search 
Into  the  seeds  of  sorrow,  germs  of  pain, 
After  a  light  to  scatter  doubts  and  fears. 

But  when  the  coming  day  silvered  the  east, 
And  warmed  that  silver  into  softest  gold, 
And  faintest  rose-tints  tinged  the  passing  clouds, 
He,  as  the  Vedas  taught,  each  morning  bathed 
In  the  clear  stream  that  murmured  near  his  cave, 
Then  bowed  in  reverence  to  the  rising  sun, 
As  from  behind  the  glittering  mountain-peaks 
It  burst  in  glory  on  the  waking  world. 

Then  bowl  and  staff  in  hand,  he  took  his  way 
Along  his  mountain-path  and  through  the  grove, 
And   through   the  gardens,    through   the    fruitful 

fields, 

Down  to  the  city,  for  his  daily  alms  ; 
While  children  his  expected  coming  watch, 
And  running  cry  :     "The  gracious  Rishi  comes." 
All  gladly  gave,  and  soon  his  bowl  was  filled, 
For  he  repaid  their  gifts  with  gracious  thanks, 
And  his  unbounded  love,  clearer  than  words, 
Spoke  to  their  hearts  as  he  passed  gently  on. 
Even  stolid  plowmen  after  him  would  look, 
Wondering  that  one  so  stately  and  so  grand 
Should  even  for  them  have  kind  and  gracious  words. 
Sometimes  while  passing  through  the  sacred  grove, 
He  paused  beneath  an  aged  banyan-tree, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST  —  BOOK  IV.  79 

Whose    spreading"   branches    drooping1  down   took 

root 

To  grow  again  in  other  giant  trunks, 
An  ever-widening",  ever-deepening  shade, 
Where  five,  like  him  in  manhood's  early  prime, 
Each  bound  to  life  by  all  its  tender  ties, 
High  born  and  rich,  had  left  their  happy  homes, 
Their  only  food  chance-g-athered  day  by  day, 
Their  only  roof  this  spreading1  banyan-tree  ; 
And  there  long-  time  they  earnestly  communed, 
Seeking1  to  aid  each  other  in  the  search 
For  higher  life  and  for  a  clearer  light. 
And  here,  under  a  sacred  peepul's  shade, 
Two  Brahmans,  famed  for  sanctity,  had  dwelt 
For  many  years,  all  cares  of  life  cast  off, 
Who  by  long1  fasting's  sought  to  make  the  veil 
Of  flesh  translucent  to  the  inner  eye  ; 
Eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  nose's  tip, 
To  lose  all  consciousness  of  outward  thing's  ; 
By  breath  suppressed  to  still  the  outer  pulse, 
So  that  the  soul  might  wake  to  conscious  life, 
And  on  unfolded  wing's  unchecked  mig-ht  rise, 
And  in  the  purest  auras  freely  soar, 
Above  cross-currents  that  engender  clouds 
Where  thunders  roll,    and  quick  cross-lig"htn  ing's 


To  view  the  world  of  causes  and  of  life, 
And  bathe  in  lig'ht  that  knows  no  night,  no  change. 
With  eager  questionings  he  sought  to  learn, 
While  they  with  gentle  answers  gladly  taught 
All  that  their  self-denying  search  had  learned. 


80  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

And  thus  he  passed  his  days  and  months  and  years, 
In  constant,  patient,  earnest  search  for  light, 
With  longer  fastings  and  more  earnest  search, 
While  day  by  day  his  body  frailer  grew, 
Until  his  soul,  loosed  from  its  earthly  bonds, 
Sometimes  escaped  its  narrow  prison-house, 
And  like  the  lark  to  heaven's  gate  it  soared, 
To  view  the  glories  of  the  coming1  dawn. 
But  as  he  rose,  the  sad  and  sorrowing  world, 
For  which  his  soul  with  tender  love  had  yearned, 
Seemed  deeper  in  the  nether  darkness  sunk, 
Beyond  his  reach,  beyond  his  power  to  save, 
When  sadly  to  his  prison-house  he  turned, 
Wishing  no  light  that  did  not  shine  for  all. 

Six  years  had  passed,  six  long  and  weary  years, 
Since  first  he  left  the  world  to  seek  for  light. 
Knowledge  he  found,  knowledge  that  soared  aloft 
To  giddy  heights,  and  sounded  hidden  depths, 
Secrets  of  knowledge  that  the  Brahmans  taught 
The  favored  few,  but  far  beyond  the  reach 
Of  those  who  toil  and  weep  and  cry  for  help  ; 
A  light  that  gilds  the  highest  mountain-tops, 
But  leaves  the  fields  and  valle}^s  dark  and  cold  ; 
But  not  that  living  light  for  which  he  yearned, 
To  light  life's  humble  walks  and  common  ways, 
And  send  its  warmth  to  every  heart  and  home, 
As  spring-time  sends  a  warm  and  genial  glow 
To  every  hill  and  valley,  grove  and  field, 
Clothing  in  softest  verdure  common  grass, 
As  well  as  sandal-trees  and  lofty  palms. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  IV.  81 

One  night,  when  hope  seemed  yielding-  to  despair, 
Sleepless  he  lay  upon  the  earth  —  his  bed  — 
When  suddenly  a  white  and  dazzling-  lig-ht 
Shone  through  the  cave,  and  all  was  dark  ag-ain. 
Startled  he  rose,  then  prostrate  in  the  dust, 
His  inmost  soul  breathed  forth  an  earnest  prayer  * 
That  he  who  made  the  light  would  make  it  shine 
Clearer  and  clearer  to  that  perfect  day, 
When  innocence,  and  peace,  and  righteousness 
Might  fill  the  earth,  and  ignorance  and  fear, 
And  cruelty  and  crime,  might  fly  away, 
As  birds  of  night  and  savage  prowling  beasts 
Fly  from  the  glories  of  the  rising  sun. 
Long  time  he  lay,  wrestling  in  earnest  prayer, 
When  from  the  eastern  wall,  one  clothed  in  light, 
Beaming  with  love,  and  halo-crowned,  appeared, 
And  gently  said  :     "  Siddartha,  rise  !  go  forth  ! 
Waste  not  your  days  in  fasts,  your  nights  in  tears  ! 
Give  what  you  have ;  do  what  you  find  to  do  ; 
With  gentle  admonitions  check  the  strong  ; 
With  loving  counsels  aid  and  guide  the  weak, 

*  I  am  aware  there  are  many  who  think  that  Buddha  did  not  be 
lieve  in  prayer,  which  Arnold  puts  into  his  own  mouth  in  these  words, 
which  sound  like  the  clanking  of  chains  in  a  prison-vault  : 

"  Pray  not  !  the  darkness  will  not  brighten  !    Ask 

Nought  from  Silence,  for  it  cannot  speak!  " 

Buddha  did  teach  that  mere  prayers  without  any  effort  to  over 
come  our  evils  is  of  no  more  use  than  for  a  merchant  to  pray  the  farther 
bank  of  a  swollen  stream  to  come  to  him  without  seeking  any  means  to 
cross,  which  merely  differs  in  words  from  the  declaration  of  St.  James 
that  faith  without  works  is  dead;  but  if  he  ever  taught  that  the  earn 
est  yearning  of  a  soul  for  help,  which  is  the  essence  of  prayer,  is  no 
aid  in  the  struggle  for  a  higher  life,  then  my  whole  reading  has  been 
at  fault,  and  the  whole  Buddhist  worship  has  been  a  departure  from 
the  teachings  of  its  founder. 


82  THE  DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

And  light  will  come,  the  day  will  surely  dawn." 
This  said,  the  light  grew  dim,  the  form  was  gone, 
But  hope  revived,  his  heart  was  strong  again. 

Joyful  he  rose,  and  when  the  rising  sun 
Had  filled  the  earth's  dark  places  full  of  light, 
With  all  his  worldly  wealth,  his  staff  and  bowl, 
Obedient  to  that  voice  he  left  his  cave  ; 
When  from  a  shepherd's  cottage  near  his  way, 
Whence  he  had  often  heard  the  busy  hum 
Of  industry,  and  childhood's  merry  laugh, 
There  came  the  angry,  stern  command  of  one 
Clothed  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Mingled  with  earnest  pleadings,  and  the  wail 
Of  women's  voices,  and  above  them  all 
The  plaintive  treble  of  a  little  child. 
Thither  he  turned,  and  when    he  reached  the  spot, 
The  cause  of  all  this  sorrow  was  revealed  : 
One  from  the  king  had  seized  their  little  all, 
Their  goats  and  sheep,  and  e'en  the  child's  pet  lamb. 
But  when  they  saw  him  they  had  often  watched 
With  reverent  awe,  as  if  come  down  from  heaven, 
Prostrate  they  fell,  and  kissed  his  garment's  hem, 
While  he  so  insolent,  now  stood  abashed, 
And,  self  accused,  he  thus  excused  himself  : 
"  The  Brahmans  make  this  day  a  sacrifice, 
And  they  demand  unblemished  goats  and  lambs. 
I  but  obey  the  king's  express  command 
To  bring  them  to  the  temple  ere  high  noon." 
But  Buddha  stooped  and  raised  the  little  child, 
Who  nestled  in  his  arms  in  perfect  trust, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST— BOOK  IV.  83 

And  gently  said  :  "  Rise  up,  my  friends,  weep  not  ! 
The  king-  must  be  obeyed —  but  king's  have  hearts. 
I  go  along"  to  be  your  advocate. 
The  king1  may  spare  what  zealous  priest  would  kill, 
Thinking-  the  gods  above  delight  in  blood." 
But  when  the  officers  would  drive  the  flock 
With  staves  and  slings  and   loud  and   angry  cries, 
They  only  scattered  them  among  the  rocks, 
And  Buddha  bade  the  shepherd  call  his  own, 
As  love  can  lead  where  force  in  vain  would   drive. 
He  called  ;  they  knew  his  voice  and  followed    him, 
Dumb  innocents,  down  to  the  slaughter  led, 
While  Buddha  kissed  the  child,  and  followed  them, 
With  those  so  late  made  insolent  by  power, 
Now  dumb  as  if  led  out  to  punishment. 

Meanwhile  the  temple-gates  wide  open  stood, 
And  when  the  king,  in  royal  purple  robed, 
And  decked  with  gems,  attended  by  his  court, 
To  clash  of  cymbals,  sound  of  shell  and  drum, 
Through  streets  swept  clean  and  sprinkled  with 

perfumes, 

Adorned  with  flags,  and  filled  with  shouting  crowds, 
Drew  near  the  sacred  shrine,  a  greater  came, 
Through  unswept  ways,  where  dwelt  the  toiling 

poor, 

Huddled  in  wretched  huts,  breathing  foul  air, 
Living  in  fetid  filth  and  poverty  — 
No  childhood's  joys,  youth  prematurely  old, 
Manhood  a  painful  struggle  but  to  live, 
And  age  a  weary  shifting  of  the  scene ; 


84  THE    I>A\VN  AND  THE   DAY.  OR 

While  all  the  people  drew  aside  to  gaze 

Upon  his  gentle  but  majestic  face, 

Beaming-  with  tender,  all-embracing-  love. 

And  when  the  king-  and  royal  train  dismount, 

'Mid  prostrate  people  and  the  statel}'  priests, 

On  fragrant  flowers  that  carpeted  his  way, 

And  mount  the  lofty  steps  to  reach  the  shrine, 

Siddartha  came,  upon  the  other  side, 

'Mid  stalls  for  victims,  sheds  for  sacred  wood, 

And  rude  attendants  on  the  pompous  rites, 

Who  seized  a  goat,  the  patriarch  of  the  flock, 

And  bound  him  firm  with  sacred  munja  grass, 

And  bore  aloft,  while  Buddha  followed  where 

A  priest  before  the  blazing  altar  stood 

With  glittering  knife,  and  others  fed  the  fires, 

While  clouds  of  incense  from  the  altar  rose, 

Sweeter  than  Araby  the  blest  can  yield, 

And  white-robed     Brahmans    chant   their   sacred 

hymns. 

And  there  before  that  ancient  shrine  they  met, 
The  king,  the  priests,  the  hermit  from  the  hill, 
When  one,  an  aged  Brahman,  raised  his  hands, 
And  praying,  lifted  up  his  voice  and  cried  : 
"  O  hear  !  great  Indra,  from  thy  lofty  throne 
On  Meru's  holy  mountain,  high  in  heaven. 
Let  every  good  the  king  has  ever  done 
With  this  sweet  incense  mingled  rise  to  thee  ; 
And  every  secret,  every  open  sin 
Be  laid  upon  this  goat,  to  sink  from  sight, 
Drunk  by  the  earth  with  his  hot  spouting  blood, 
Or  on  this  altar  with  his  flesh  be  burned." 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  IV.  85 

And  all  the  Brahman  choir  responsive  cried  : 
"  Long-  live  the  king-  !  now  let  the  victim  die  !  " 
But  Buddha  said  :  "  Let  him  not  strike,  O  king  ! 
For  how  can  God,  being-  g-ood,  delig-ht  in  blood  ? 
And  how  can  blood  wash  out  the  stains  of  sin, 
And  change  the  fixed  eternal  law  of  life 
That  good  from  good,  evil  from  evil  flows  ?  " 
This  said,  he  stooped  and  loosed  the  panting  goat, 
None  staying-  him,  so  great  his  presence  was. 
And  then  with  loving-  tenderness  he  taught 
How  sin  works  out  its  own  sure  punishment ; 
How  like  corroding-  rust  and  eating  moth 
It  wastes  the  very  substance  of  the  soul  ; 
Like  poisoned  blood  it  surely,  drop  by  drop, 
Pollutes  the  very  fountain  of  the  life ; 
Like  deadly  drug-  it  changes  into  stone 
The  living  fibres  of  a  loving  heart  ; 
Like  fell  disease,  it  breeds  within  the  veins 
The  living  agents  of  a  living-  death  ; 
And  as  in  g-ardens  overgrown  with  weeds, 
Nothing  but  patient  labor,  day  by  day, 
Uprooting1  cherished  evils  one  by  one, 
Watering-  its  soil  with  penitential  tears, 
Can  fit  the  soul  to  grow  that  precious  seed, 
Which  taking-  root,  spreads  out  a  grateful  shade 
Where   g-entle   thoughts   like   sing-ing-   birds    may 

lodg-e, 

Where  pure  desires  like  fragrant  flowers  may  bloom, 
And  loving  acts  like  ripened  fruits  may  hang. 
Then,  chiding  not,  with  earnest  words  he  urged 
Humanity  to  man,  kindness  to  beasts, 


8(i  THE  DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Pure  words,  kind  acts,  in  all  our  daily  walks, 

As  better  than  the  blood  of  lambs  and  goats, 

Better  than  incense  or  the  chanted  hymn, 

To  cleanse  the  heart  and  please  the  powers  above, 

And  fill  the  world  with  harmony  and  peace, 

Till  pricked  in  heart,  the  priest  let  fall   his  knife  ; 

The  Brahmans  listening1,   ceased    to   chant   their 

hymns  ; 

The  king-  drank  in  his  words  with  eager  ears  ; 
And  from  that  day  no  altar  dripped  with  blood, 
But  flowers  instead  breathed  forth  their  sweet  per 
fumes. 

And  when  that  troubled  day  drew  near  its  close, 
Joy  filled  once  more  that  shepherd's  humble  home. 
From  door  to  door  his  simple  story  flew. 
And  when  the  king-  entered  his  palace  gates, 
New  thoughts  were  surging  in  his  wakened  soul. 

But  though  the  beasts  have  lairs,  the  birds  have 

nests, 

Buddha  had  not  whereon  to  lay  his  head, 
Not  even  a  mountain-cave  to  call  his  home  ; 
And  forth  he  fared,  heedless  about  his  way  — 
For  every  way  was  now  alike  to  him. 
Heedless  of  food,  his  alms-bowl  hung  unused. 
While  all  the  people  stood  aside  with  awe. 
And  to  their  children  pointed  out  the  man 
Who  plead  the  shepherd's  cause  before  the  king. 
At  length  he  passed  the  city's  western  gate, 
And  crossed  the  little  plain  circling  its  walls. 
Circled  itself  bv  five  bold  hills  that  rise, 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  IV.  87 

A  rugged  rampart  and  an  outer  wall. 
Two  outer  gates  this  mountain  rampart  had. 
The  one  a  narrow  valley  opening  west 
Toward  Gaya,  through  the  red  Barabar  hills, 
Through  which  the  rapid  Phalgu  swiftly  glides, 
Down  from  the  Vindhya  mountains  far  away, 
Then  gently  winds  around  this  fruitful  plain, 
Its  surface  green  with  floating  lotus  leaves. 
And  bright  with  lotus  blossoms,  blue  and  white, 
O'erhung  with  drooping  trees  and  trailing  vines, 
Till  through  the  eastern  gate  it  hastens  on, 
To  lose  itself  in  Gunga's  sacred  stream. 

Toward  Gaya  now  Siddartha  bent  his  steps, 
Distant  the  journey  of  a  single  day 
As  men  marked  distance  in  those  ancient  times, 
No  longer  heeded  in  this  headlong  age, 
When  we  count  moments  by  the  miles  we  pass  ; 
And  one  may  see  the  sun  sink  out  of  sight 
Behind  great  banks  of  gray  and  wintry  clouds, 
While  feathery  snowflakes  fill  the  frosty  air, 
And  after  quiet  sleep  may  wake  next  day 
To  see  it  bathe  green  fields  with  floods  of  light, 
And  dry  the  sparkling  dew  from  opening  flowers, 
And  hear  the  joyful  burst  of  vernal  song, 
And  breathe  the  balmy  air  of  opening  spring. 

And  as  he  went,  weary  and  faint  and  sad, 
The  valley  opening  showed  a  pleasant  grove, 
Where  many  trees  mingled  their  grateful  shade, 
And  many  blossoms  blended  sweet  perfumes  ; 


88  THE  DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

And  there,  under  a  drooping-  vakul-tree, 
A  bower  of  roses  and  sweet  jasmine  vines, 
Within  a  couch,  without  a  banquet  spread, 
While  near  a  fountain  with  its  falling-  spray 
Ruffled  the  surface  of  a  shining-  pool, 
Whose  liquid  cadence  mingled  with  the  song-s 
Of  many  birds  concealed  among-  the  trees. 

And  there  three  seeming  sister  graces  were,* 
Fair  as  young-  Venus  rising-  from  the  sea. 
The  one  in  seeming-  childlike  innocence 
Bathed  in  the  pool,  while  her  low  liquid  laugh 
Rung-  sweet  and  clear ;  and  one  her  vina  tuned, 
And  as  she  played,  the  other  lig-htly  danced, 
Clapping-  her  hands,  tinkling-  her  silver  bells, 
Whose  gauzy  silken  garments  seemed  to  show 
Rather  than  hide  her  slender,  graceful  limbs. 
And  she  who  played  the  vina  sweetly  sang-  : 

"  Come  to  our  bower  and  take  your  rest  — 
Life  is  a  weary  road  at  best. 
Eat,  for  your  board  is  richly  spread  ; 
Drink,  for  your  wine  is  sparkling-  red  : 
Rest,  for  the  weary  day  is  past ; 
Sleep,  for  the  shadows  gather  fast. 
Tune  not  your  vina-string-s  too  high, 
Strained  they  will  break  and  the  music  die. 
Come  to  our  bower  and  take  your  rest  — 
Life  is  a  weary  road  at  best." 

*  Mara  dispatched  three  pleasure-girls  from  the  north  quarter  to 
come  and  tempt  him.  Their  names  were  Tanha,  Rati  and  Ranga. 
Fa  Hian  (Beal),  p.  120. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  IV.  89 

But  Buddha,  full  of  pity,  passing-  said  : 
"  Alas,  poor  soul  !  flitting-  a  little  while 
Like  painted  butterflies  before  the  lamp 
That  soon  will  burn  your  wings  ;  like  silly  doves, 
Calling-  the  cruel  kite  to  seize  and  kill  ; 
Displaying-  lig-hts  to  be  the  robber's  g-uide  ; 
Enticing-  men  to  wrong-,  who  soon  despise. 
Ah  !  poor,  perverted,  cold  and  cruel  world  ! 
Delig-hts  of  love  become  the  lures  of  lust, 
The  joys  of  heaven  chang-ed  into  fires  of  hell." 


BOOK    V. 


Now  mighty  Mara,  spirit  of  the  air, 

The  prince  of  darkness,  ruling-  worlds  below, 

Had  watched  for  Buddha  all  these  weary  years, 

Seeking-  to  lead  his  steady  steps  astra}7 

By  many  wiles  his  wicked  wit  devised, 

Lest  he  at  length  should  find  the  living-  light 

And  rescue  millions  from  his  dark  domains. 

Now,  showing  him  the  king-doms  of  the  world, 

He  offered  him  the  Chakravartin's  crown  ; 

Now,  opening-  seas  of  knowledge,  shoreless,  vast, 

Knowledge  of  ag-es  past  and  yet  to  come, 

Knowledge  of  nature  and  the  hidden  laws 

That  guide  her  changes,  guide  the  rolling-  spheres, 

Sakwal  on  sakwal,*  boundless,  infinite, 

Yet  ever  moving  on  in  harmony, 

He  thought  to  puff  his  spirit  up  with  pride 

Till  he  should  quite  forget  a  suffering  world, 

In  sin  and  sorrow  groping  blindly  on. 

*  A  sakwal  was  a  sun  with  its  system  of  worlds,  which  the  ancient 
Hindoos  believed  extended  one  beyond  another  through  infinite  space. 
It  indicates  great  advance  in  astronomical  knowledge  when  such  a  com 
plex  idea,  now  universally  received  as  true,  as  that  the  fixed  stars  are 
suns  with  systems  of  worlds  like  ours,  could  be  expressed  in  a  single 
word. 

(90) 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  V.  91 

But  when  he  saw  that  lust  of  power  moved  not, 

And  thirst  for  knowledge  turned  him  not  aside 

From  earnest  search  after  the  living"  light, 

From  tender  love  for  every  living  thing, 

He  sent  the  tempters  Doubt  and  dark  Despair. 

And  as  he  watched  for  final  victory 

He  saw  that  light  flash  through  the  silent  cave, 

And  heard  the  Buddha  breathe  that  earnest  prayer, 

And  fled  amazed,  nor  dared  to  look  behind. 

For  though  to  Buddha  all  his  way  seemed  dark, 

His  wily  enemy  could  see  a  Power, 

A  mighty  Power,  that  ever  hovered  near, 

A  present  help  in  every  time  of  need, 

When  sinking  souls  seek  earnestly  for  aid. 

He  fled,  indeed,  as  flies  the  prowling  wolf, 

Alarmed  at  watch-dog's  bark  or  shepherd's  voice, 

While  seeking  entrance  to  the  slumbering  fold, 

But  soon  returns  with  soft  and  stealthy  step, 

With  keenest  scent  snuffing  the  passing  breeze, 

With  ears  erect  catching  each  slightest  sound, 

With  glaring  eyes  watching  each  moving  thing, 

With  hungry  jaws,  skulking  about  the  fold 

Till  coming  dawn  drives  him  to  seek  his  lair. 

So  Mara  fled,  and  so  he  soon  returned, 

And  thus  he  watched  the  Buddha's  every  step  ; 

Saw  him  with  gentleness  quell  haughty  power  ; 

Saw  him  with  tenderness  raise  up  the  weak  ; 

Heard  him  before  the  Brahmans  and  the  king 

Denounce  those  bloody  rites  ordained  by  him  ; 

Heard  him  declare  the  deadly  work  of  Sin, 

His  own  prime  minister  and  eldest-born  ; 


92  THE   DAWN   AND  THE    DAY,  OR 

Heard  him  proclaim  the  mighty  power  of  Love 
To  cleanse  the  life  and  make  the  flinty  heart 
As  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe. 
And  when  he  saw  whither  he  bent  his  steps, 
He  sent  three  wrinkled  hags,  deformed  and  foul, 
The  willing  agents  of  his  wicked  will  — 
Life-wasting  Idleness,  the  thief  of  time  ; 
Lascivious  Lust,  whose  very  touch  defiles, 
Poisoning  the  blood,  polluting  all  within  ; 
And  greedy  Gluttony,  most  gross  of  all, 
Whose  ravening  maw  forever  asks  for  more  — 
To  that  delightful  garden  near  his  way, 
To  tempt  the  Master,  their  true  forms  concealed  — 
For   who   so  gross    that    such    coarse    hags    could 

tempt  ?  — 

But  clothed  instead  in  youthful  beauty's  grace. 
And  now  he  saw  him  pass  unmoved  by  lust, 
Nor  yet  with  cold,  self-righteous  pride  puffed    up, 
But  breathing  pity  from  his  inmost  soul 
E'en  for  the  ministers  of  vice  themselves. 

Defeated,  not  discouraged,  still  he  thought 
To  try  one  last  device,  for  well  he  knew 
That  Buddha's  steps  approached  the  sacred  tree 
Where  light  would  dawn  and  all   his  power  would 

end. 

Upon  a  seat  beside  the  shaded  path, 
A  seeming  aged  Brahman,  Mara  sat, 
And  when  the  prince  approached,  his  tempter  rose, 
Saluting  him  with  gentle  stateliness, 
Saluted  in  return  with  equal  grace. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  V.  93 

"Whither  away,  my  son?"  the  tempter  said, 
"  If  you  to  Gay  a  now  direct  your  steps, 
Perhaps  your  youth  may  cheer  my  lonely  age." 
"I  go  to  seek  for  light,"  the  prince  replied, 
"But  where  it  matters  not,  so  light  be  found." 

But  Mara  answered  him  :  "Your  search  is  vain. 
Why  seek  to  know  more  than  the  Vedas  teach  ? 
Why  seek  to  learn  more  than  the  teachers  know  ? 
But  such  is  youth  ;  the  rosy  tints  of  dawn 
Tinge  all  his  thoughts.     '  Excelsior  !'  he  cries, 
And  fain  would  scale  the  unsubstantial  clouds 
To  find  a  light  that  knows  no  night,  no  change  ; 
We  Brahmans  chant  our  hymns  in  solemn  wise, 
The  vulgar  listen  with  profoundest  awe ; 
But  still  our  muffled  heart-throbs  beat  the  march 
Onward,  forever  onward,  to  the  grave, 
When  one  ahead  cries,   '  Lo  !  I  see  a  light  !' 
And  others  clutch  his  garments,  following  on 
Till  all  in  starless  darkness  disappear. 
There  may  be  day  beyond  this  starless  night, 
There  may  be  life  beyond  this  dark  profound  — 
But  who  has  ever  seen  that  changeless  day  ? 
What  steps  have  e'er  retraced  that  silent  road  ? 
Fables  there  are,  hallowed  by  hoary  age, 
Fables  and  ancient  creeds,  that  men  have  made 
To  give  them  power  with  ignorance  and  fear  ; 
Fables  of  gods  with  human  passions  filled  ; 
Fables  of  men  who  walked  and  talked  with  gods  ; 
Fables  of  kalpas  passed,  when  Brahma  slept 
And  all  created  things  were  wrapped  in  flames, 


94  THE   DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

And  then  the  floods  descended,  chaos  reigned, 

The  world  a  waste  of  waters,  and  the  heavens 

A  sunless  void,  until  again  he  wakes. 

And  sun  and  moon  and  stars  resume  their  rounds, 

Oceans  receding-  show  the  mountain-tops, 

And  then  the  hills  and  spreading  plains  — 

Strange  fables  all,  that  crafty  men  have  feigned. 

Why  waste  your  time  pursuing  such  vain  dreams  — 

As  some  benighted  travelers  chase  false  lights 

To  lose  themselves  in  bogs  and  fens  at  last  ? 

But  read  instead  in  Nature's  open  book 

How  light  from  darkness  grew  by  slow  degrees  ; 

How  crawling  worms  grew  into  light-winged  birds, 

Acquiring  sweetest  notes  and  gayest  plumes  ; 

How  lowly  ferns  grew  into  lofty  palms  ; 

How  men  have  made  themselves  from  chattering 

apes  ;* 

How,  even  from  protoplasm  to  highest  bard, 
Selecting  and  rejecting,  mind  has  grown 
Until  at  length  all  secrets  are  unlocked, 
And  man  himself  now  stands  pre-eminent, 
Maker  and  master  of  his  own  great  self, 
To  sneer  at  all  his  lisping  childlike  past 
And  laugh  at  all  his  fathers  had  revered." 

The  prince  with  gentle  earnestness  replied  : 
"  Full  well  I  know  how  blindly  we  grope  on 

*It  may  seem  like  an  anachronism  to  put  the  very  words  of  the 
modern  agnostic  into  the  month  of  Bnddha's  tempter,  bnt  these  men  are 
merely  threshing1  over  old  straw.  The  sneer  of  Epicurus  curled  the  lip 
of  Voltaire,  and  now  merely  breaks  out  into  a  broad  laug-h  on  the 
pood-natured  face  of  Inpersoll. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  V.  95 

In  doubt  and  fear  and  ignorance  profound, 

The  wisdom  of  the  past  a  book  now  sealed. 

But  why  despise  what  ages  have  revered  ? 

As  some  rude  plowman  casts  on  rubbish-heaps 

The  rusty  casket  that  his  share  reveals, 

Not  knowing-  that  within  it  are  concealed 

Most  precious  gems,  to  make  him  rich  indeed, 

The  hand  that  hid  them  from  the  robber,  cold, 

The  key  that  locked  this  rusty  casket,  lost. 

The   past   was   wise,  else  whence   that  wondrous 

tongue  * 

That  we  call  sacred,  which  the  learned  speak, 
Now  passing-  out  of  use  as  too  refined 
For  this  rude  ag-e,  too  smooth  for  our  roug-h  tongues, 
Too  rich  and  delicate  for  our  coarse  thoughts. 
Why  should  such  men  make  fables  so  absurd 
Unless  within  their  rough  outside  is  stored 
Some  precious  truth  from  profanation  hid  ? 
Revere  your  own,  revile  no  other  faith, 
Lest  with  the  casket  you  reject  the  gems, 
Or  with  rough  hulls  reject  the  living  seed. 
Doubtless  in  nature  changes  have  been  wrought 
That  speak  of  ages  in  the  distant  past, 
Whose  contemplation  fills  the  mind  with  awe. 
The  smooth-worn  pebbles  on  the  highest  hills 
Speak  of  an  ocean  sweeping  o'er  their  tops  ; 
The  giant  palms,  now  changed  to  solid  rocks, 


*  The  Sanscrit,  the  most  perfect  of  all  languages,  and  the  mother  of 
Greek  and  of  all  the  languages  of  the  Aryan  races,  now  spread  over  the 
world,  had  gone  out  of  use  in  Buddha's  time,  and  the  Pali,  one  of  its 
earliest  offspring,  was  used  by  the  great  teacher  and  his  people. 


96  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Speak  of  the  wonders  of  a  buried  world. 
Why  seek  to  solve  the  riddle  nature  puts, 
Of  whence  and  why,  with  theories  and  dreams  ? 
The  crawling-  worm  proclaims  its  Maker's  power  ; 
The  sing-ing-  bird  proclaims  its  Maker's  skill  ; 
The  mind  of  man  proclaims  a  greater  Mind, 
Whose  will  makes  world,  whose  thoughts  are  living- 
acts. 

Our  every  heart-throb  speaks  of  present  power, 
Preserving,  recreating,  day  by  day. 
Better  confess  how  little  we  can  know, 
Better  with  feet  unshod  and  humble  awe 
Approach  this  living  Power  to  ask  for  aid." 
And  as  he  spoke  the  devas  filled  the  air, 
Unseen,  unheard  of  men,  and  sweetly  sung  : 
"  Hail,  prince  of  peace  !  hail,  harbinger  of  day  ! 
The  darkness  vanishes,  the  lig-ht  appears." 
But  Mara  heard,  and  silent  slunk  away. 
The    o'erwroug-ht    prince    fell    prostrate    on    the 

ground 

And  lay  entranced,  while  devas  hovered  near, 
Watching  each  heart-throb,  breathing  that  sweet 

calm 
Its  guardian  angel  gives  the  sleeping  child. 

The  night   has   passed,    the   day-star  fades  from 

sight, 

And  morning's  softest  tint  of  rose  and  gold 
Tinges  the  east  and  tips  the  mountain-tops. 
The  silent  village  stirs  with  waking  life, 
The  bleat  of  goats  and  low  of  distant  herds, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  V.  97 

The  song-  of  birds  and  crow  of  jungle-cocks 
Breathe  softest  music  through  the  dewy  air. 

And  now  two  girls,*  just  grown  to  womanhood, 
The  lovely  daughters  of  the  village  lord, 
Trapusha  one,  and  one  Balika  called, 
Up  with  the  dawn,  trip  lightly  o'er  the  grass, 
Bringing  rich  curds  and  rice  picked  grain  by  grain, 
A  willing  offering  to  their  guardian  god  — 
Who  dwelt,  as  all  the  simple  folk  believed, 
Beneath  an  aged  bodhi-tree  that  stood 
Beside  the  path  and  near  where  Buddha  lay  - 
To  ask  such  husbands  as  their  fancies  paint, 
Gentle  and  strong,  and  noble,  true  and  brave  ; 
And  having  left  their  gifts  and  made  their  vows, 
With  timid  steps  the  maidens  stole  away. 

But  while  the  outer  world  is  filled  with  life, 
That  inner  world  from  whence  this  life  proceeds, 
Concealed  from  sight  by  matter's  blinding  folds, 
Whose  coarser  currents  fill  with  wondrous  power 
The  nervous  fluid  of  the  universe 
Which  darts  through  nature's  frame,  from  star  to 

star, 

From  cloud  to  cloud,  filling  the  world  with  awe  ; 
Now  harnessed  to  our  use,  a  patient  drudge, 
Heedless  of  time  or  space,  bears  human  thought 


*  Arnold  follows  the  tradition  that  there  was  but  one,  whom  he 
makes  a  young-  wife,  without  any  authority  so  far  as  I  can  learn.  I 
prefer  to  follow  the  Chinese  pilgrim,  Fa  Hian,  who  was  on  the  ground 
with  every  means  of  knowing,  who  makes  them  two  young1  g'irls,  and 
named  as  above. 


98  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

From  land  to  land  and  through  the  ocean's  depths  ; 
And  bears  the  softest  tones  of  human  speech 
Faster  than  light,  farther  than  ocean  sounds  ; 
And   whirls   the  clattering   car  through   crowded 

streets, 
And   floods   with    light   the   haunts   of    prowling 

thieves  — 

That  inner  world,  whose  very  life  is  love, 
Pure  love,  and  perfect,  infinite,  intense, 
That  world  is  now  astir.     A  rift  appears 
In  those  dark  clouds  that  rise  from  sinful  souls 
And  hide  from  us  its  clear  celestial  light, 
And  clouds  of  messengers  from  that  bright  world, 
Whom  the}7  called  devas  and  we  angels  call, 
Rush  to  that  rift  to  rescue  and  to  save. 
The  wind  from  their  bright  wings  fanned  Buddha's 

soul, 

The  love  from  their  sweet  spirits  warmed  his  heart. 
He  starts  from  sleep,  but  rising,  scarcely  knows 
If  he  had  seen  a  vision  while  awake, 
Or,  sunk  in  sleep,  had  dreamed  a  heavenly  dream. 
From  that  pure  presence  all  his  tempters  fled. 
The  calm  of  conflict  ended  filled  his  soul, 
And  led  by  unseen  hands  he  forward  passed 
To  where  the  sacred  fig-tree  long  had  grown, 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  village  altar  stood, 
Where  simple  folk  would  place  their  willing  gifts, 
And  ask  the  aid  their  simple  wants  required, 
Believing  all  the  life  above,  around, 
The  life  within  themselves,  must  surely  come 
From  living  powers  that  ever  hovered  near. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  V.  99 

Here  lay  the  food  Sagata's  daughters  brought, 
The  choicest  products  of  his  herds  and  fields. 
This  grateful  food  met  nature's  every  need, 
Diffused  a  healthful  g-low  through  all  his  frame, 
And  all  the  body's  eager  yearnings  stilled. 
Seven  days  he  sat,  and  ate  no  more  nor  drank, 
Yet  hungered  not,  nor  burned  with  parching  thirst, 
For  heavenly  manna  fed  his  hungry  soul  — 
Its  wants  were  satisfied,  the  body's  ceased. 
Seven  days  he  sat,  in  sweet  internal  peace 
Waiting  for  light,  and  sure  that  light  would  come, 
When  seeming  scales  fell  from  his  inner  sight, 
His  spirit's  eyes  were  opened  and  he  saw 
Not  far  away,  but  near,  within,  above, 
As  dwells  the  soul  within  this  mortal  frame, 
A  world  within  this  workday  world  of  ours, 
The  living  soul  of  all  material  things. 

Eastward  he  saw  a  never-setting  Sun, 
Whose  light  is  truth,  the  light  of  all  the  worlds, 
Whose  heat  is  tender,  all-embracing  love, 
The  inmost  Life  of  everything  that  lives, 
The  mighty  Prototype  and  primal  Cause 
Of  all  the  suns  that  light  this  universe, 
From  ours,  full-orbed,  that  tints  the  glowing  east 
And  paints  the  west  a  thousand  varied  shades, 
To  that  far  distant  little  twinkling  star 
That  seems  no  larger  than  the  glow-worm's  lamp, 
Itself  a  sun  to  light  such  worlds  as  ours  ; 
And  round  about  Him  clouds  of  living  light, 
Bright  clouds  of  cherubim  and  seraphim, 


100  THE  DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Who  sing"  His  praise  and  execute  His  will  — 
Not  idly  sing-ing-,  as  the  foolish  feig-n, 
But  voicing-  forth  their  joy  they  work  and  sing- ; 
Doing-  His  will,  their  works  sound  forth  His  praise. 

On  every  side  were  fields  of  living-  green, 
With  g-ardens,  groves  and  g-ently  rising-  hills, 
Where  costal  streams  of  living-  waters  flow, 
And  dim  with  distance  Meru's  lofty  heig-hts. 
No  desert  sands,  no  mountains  crowned  with  ice, 
For  here  the  scorching-  simoom  never  blows, 
Nor  wintry  winds,  that  pierce  and  freeze  and  kill, 
But  g-entle  breezes  breathing-  sweet  perfumes  ; 
No  weeds,  no  thorns,  no  bitter  poisonous  fruits, 
No  noxious  reptiles  and  no  prowling-  beasts  ; 
For  in  this  world  of  innocence  and  love 
No  evil  thoughts  give  birth  to  evil  thing's, 
But  many  birds  of  every  varied  plume 
Delight  the  ear  with  sweetest  melody  ; 
And  many  flowers  of  every  varied  tint 
Fill  all  the  air  with  odors  rich  and  sweet ; 
And  many  fruits,  suited  to  every  taste, 
Hang-  ripe  and  ready  that  who  will  may  eat  - 
A  world  of  life,  with  all  its  lig-hts  and  shades, 
The  brig-ht  original  of  our  sad  world 
Without  its  sin  and  storms,  its  thorns  and  tears. 
No  Lethe's  slug-gish  waters  lave  its  shores, 
Nor  solemn  shades,  of  poet's  fancy  bred, 
Sit  idly  here  to  boast  of  battles  past, 
Nor  wailing-  g-hosts  wring-  here  their  shadowy  hands 
For  lack  of  honor  to  their  cast-off  dust ; 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  V.  101 

But  living-  men,  in  human  bodies  clothed  - 
Not  bodies  made  of  matter,  dull  and  coarse, 
Dust  from  the  dust  and  soon  to  dust  returned, 
But  living-  bodies,  clothing  living  souls, 
Bodies  responsive  to  the  spirit's  will, 
Clothing  in  acts  the  spirit's  inmost  thoughts  — 
Dwell  here  in  many  mansions,  larg-e  and  fair, 
Stretching-  beyond  the  keenest  vision's  ken, 
With  room  for  each  and  more  than  room  for  all, 
Forever  filling  and  yet  never  full. 
Not  clog-ged  by  matter,  fast  as  fleetest  birds, 
Wishing1  to  go,  they  go  ;  to  come,  they  come. 
No  helpless  infancy  or  palsied  age, 
But  all  in  early  manhood's  youthful  bloom, 
The  old  grown  young,  the  child  to  man's  estate. 
Gentle  they  seemed  as  they  passed  to  and  fro, 
Gentle  and  strong,  with  every  manly  grace  ; 
Busy  as  bees  in  summer's  sunny  hours, 
In  works  of  usefulness  and  acts  of  love  ; 
No  pinching  poverty  or  grasping  greed, 
Gladly  receiving-,  they  more  gladly  give, 
Sharing  in  peace  the  bounties  free  to  all. 

As  lost  in  wonder  and  delight  he  g-azed, 
He  saw  approaching  from  a  pleasant  grove 
Two  noble  youths,  yet  full  of  gentleness, 
Attending  one  from  sole  to  crown  a  queen, 
With  every  charm  of  fresh  and  blooming-  youth 
And  every  grace  of  early  womanhood, 
Her  face  the  mirror  of  her  gentle  soul, 
Her  flowing  robes  finer  than  softest  silk, 


102  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

That  as  she  moved  seemed  woven  of  the  light  ; 
Not  borne  by  clumsy  wings,  or  labored  steps, 
She  glided  on  as  if  her  will  had  wings 
That  bore  her  willing  body  where  she  wished. 
As  she  approached,  close  by  her  side  he  saw, 
As  through  a  veil  or  thin  transparent  mist, 
The  form  and  features  of  the  aged  king, 
Older  and  frailer  by  six  troubled  years 
Than  when  they  parted,  yet  his  very  face, 
Whom  she  was  watching  with  the  tenderest  care. 
And  nearer  seen  each  seeming  youth  was  two, 
As  when  at  first  in  Eden's  happy  shade 
Our  primal  parents  ere  the  tempter  came 
Were  twain,  and  yet  but  one,  so  on  they  come, 
Hand  joined  in  hand,  heart  beating  close  to  heart, 
One  will  their  guide  and  sharing  every  thought, 
Beaming  with  tender,  all-embracing  love, 
Whom  God  had  joined  and  death  had  failed  to  part. 

What  need  of  words  to  introduce  his  guests  ? 
Love  knows  her  own,  the  mother  greets  her  son. 
Her  parents  and  the  king's,  who  long  had  watched 
Their  common  offspring  with  a  constant  care, 
Inspiring  hope  and  breathing  inward  peace 
When  secret  foes  assailed  on  every  side, 
Now  saw  him  burst  the  clouds  that  veiled  their  view 
And  stand  triumphant  full  before  their  eyes. 
O  happy  meeting  !  joy  profound,  complete  ! 
Soul  greeting  soul,  heart  speaking  straight  to  heart, 
While  countless  happy  faces  hovered  near 
And  songs  of  joy  sound  through  Nirvana's  heights. 


THK   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  V.  103 

At  length,  the  transports  of  first  meeting-  past, 
More  of  this  new-found  world  he  wished  to  see, 
More  of  its  peace  and  joy  he  wished  to  know. 
Led  by  his  loving  glides,  enwrapt  he  saw 
Such  scenes  of  beauty  passing-  human  speech, 
Such  scenes  of  peace  and  joy  past  human  thought, 
That  he  who  sings  must  tune  a  heavenly  lyre 
And  seraphs  touch  his  lips  with  living  fire. 
My  unanointed  lips  will  not  presume 
To  try  such  lofty  themes,  glad  if  I  gain 
A  distant  prospect  of  the  promised  land, 
And  catch  some  g-limpses  throug-h    the  gates  ajar. 
Long'   time   he   wandered    through   these   blissful 

scenes, 

Time  measured  by  succession  of  delights, 
Till  wearied  by  excess  of  very  joy 
Both  soul  and  body  sunk  in  tranquil  sleep. 
He  slept  while  hosts  of  devas  sweetly  sung  : 
"Hail,  great  physician  !  savior,  lover,  friend  ! 
Joy  of  the  worlds,  guide  to  Nirvana,  hail ! " 
From  whose  bright  presence  Mara's  myriads  fled. 
But  Mara's  self,  subtlest  of  all,  fled  not, 
But  putting  on  a  seeming  yogi's  form, 
Wasted,  as  if  by  fasts,  to  skin  and  bone, 
On  one  foot  standing,  rooted  to  the  ground, 
The  other  raised  against  his  fleshless  thigh, 
Hands  stretched  aloft  till  joints  had  lost  their  use, 
And  clinched  so  close,  as  if  in  firm  resolve, 
The  nails  had  grown  quite  through  the  festering 

palms,* 

*  Bishop  Heber  says  he  saw  a  recluse  whose  hands  had  been  clinched 
so  close  and  so  \ons  that  the  nails  had  actually  grown  through  the 
hands  as  here  described. 


104  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

His  tattered  robes,  as  if  worn  out  by  age, 
Hanging  like  moss  from  trees  decayed  and  dead, 
While  birds  were  nesting  in  his  tangled  hair. 
And  thus  disguised  the  subtle  Mara  stood, 
And  when  the  master  roused  him  from  his  sleep 
His  tempter  cried  in  seeming  ecstasy  : 
"  O  !  happy  wakening  !  joy  succeeding  grief  ! 
Peace  after  trouble  !  rest  that  knows  no  end  ! 
Life  after  death  !  Nirvana  found  at  last  ! 
Here  let  us  wait  till  wasted  by  decay 
The  body's  worn-out  fetters  drop  away." 

"Much  suffering  brother,"  Buddha  answered  himr 
"  The  weary  traveler,  wandering  through  the  night 
In  doubt  and  darkness,  gladly  sees  the  dawn. 
The  storm-tossed  sailor  on  the  troubled  sea, 
Wearied  and  drenched,  with  joy  re-enters  port. 
But  other  nights  succeed  that  happy  dawn, 
And  other  seas  may  toss  that  sailor's  bark. 
But  he  who  sees  Nirvana's  sacred  Sun, 
And  in  Nirvana's  haven  furls  his  sails, 
No  more  shall  wander  through  the  starless  nightr 
No  more  shall  battle  with  the  winds  and  waves. 
O  joy  of  joys  !  our  eyes  have  seen  that  Sun  ! 
Our  sails  have  almost  reached  that  sheltering  port. 
But  shall  we,  joyful  at  our  own  escape, 
Leave  our  poor  brothers  battling  with  the  storm, 
Sails  rent,  barks  leaking,  helm  and  compass  lost, 
No  light  to  guide,  no  hope  to  cheer  them  on  ?  " 

"  Each  for  himself  must  seek,  as  we  have  sought," 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  V.  105 

The  tempter  said,  "  and  each  must  climb  alone 
The  rugged  path  our  weary  feet  have  trod. 
No  royal  road  leads  to  Nirvana's  rest ; 
No  royal  captain  guides  his  army  there. 
Why  leave  the  heights  with  so  much  labor  gained  ? 
Why  plunge  in  darkness  we  have  just  escaped  ? 
Men  will  not  heed  the  message  we  may  bring. 
The  great  will  scorn,  the  rabble  will  deride,* 
And  cry  '  He  hath  a  devil  and  is  mad.' '' 

"  True,"  answered  Buddha,   "each  must  seek  to 

find  ; 

Each  for  himself  must  leave  the  downward  road  ; 
Each  for  himself  must  choose  the  narrow  path 
That  leads  to  purity  and  peace  and  life. 
But  helping  hands  will  aid  those  struggling  up  ; 
A  warning  voice  may  check  those  hasting  down. 
Men  are  like  lilies  in  yon  shining  pool : 
Some  sunk  in  evil  grovel  in  the  dust, 
Loving  like  swine  to  wallow  in  the  mire  — 
Like  those  that  grow  within  its  silent  depths, 
Scarce  raised  above  its  black  and  oozy  bed  ; 
While  some  love  good,  and  seek  the  purest  light, 
Breathing  sweet  fragrance  from  their  gentle  lives  — 
Like  those  that  rise  above  its  glassy  face, 
Sparkling  with  dewdrops,  royally  arrayed, 
Drinking  the  brightness  of  the  morning  sun, 
Distilling  odors  through  the  balmy  air  ; 
But  countless  multitudes  grope  blind!}-  on, 

*Tbe  last  temptation  of  Buddha   was   to  keep  his  light  to  himself 
under  the  fear  that  men  would  reject  his  message. 


106  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY. 

Shut  out  from  light  and  crushed  by  cruel  castes, 
Willing"  to  learn,  whom  none  will   deign  to  teach. 
Willing  to  rise,  whom  none  will  deign  to  guide, 
Who  from  the  cradle  to  the  silent  grave, 
Helpless  and  hopeless,  only  toil  and  weep  — 
Like  those  that  on  the  stagnant  waters  float, 
Smothered  with  leaves,  covered  with  rop}*  slime, 
That  from  the  rosy  dawn  to  dewy  eve 
Scarce  catch  one  glimmer  of  the  glorious  sun. 
The  good  scarce  need,  the  bad  will  scorn,  my  aid  ; 
But  these  poor  souls  will  gladly  welcome  help. 
Welcome  to  me  the  scorn  of  rich  and  great. 
Welcome  the  Brahman's  proud  and  cold  disdain, 
Welcome  revilings  from  the  rabble  rout. 
If  I  can  lead  some  groping  souls  to  light  — 
If  I  can  give  some  weary  spirits  rest. 
Farewell,  my  brother,  you  h  ave  earned  release — 
Rest  here  in  peace.     I  go  to  aid  the  poor." 
And  as  he  spoke  a  flash  of  lurid  light 
Shot  through  the  air,  and  Buddha  stood  alone  -- 
Alone  !  to  teach  the  warring  nations  peace  ! 
Alone  !  to  lead  a  groping  world  to  light  ! 
Alone  !  to  give  the  heavy-laden  rest  ! 


BOOK  VI. 


SEVEN  days  had  passed  since  first  he  saw  the  light, 

Seven  days  of  deep,  ecstatic  peace  and  joy, 

Of  open  vision  of  that  blissful  world, 

Of  sweet  communion  with  those  dwelling-  there. 

But  having1  tasted,  seen  and  felt  the  joys 

Of  that  bright  world  where  love  is  all  in  all, 

Filling-  each  heart,  inspiring-  every  thoug-ht, 

Guiding-  each  will  and  prompting-  every  act, 

He  yearned  to  see  the  other,  darker  side 

Of  that  brig-ht  picture,  where  the  wars  and  hates, 

The  lust,  the  greed,  the  cruelty  and  crime 

That  fill  the  world  with  pain  and  want  and  woe 

Have  found  their  dwelling-place  and  final  g-oal. 

Quicker  than  eag-les  soaring-  toward  the  sun 
Till  but  a  speck  ag-ainst  the  azure  vault 
Swoop  down  upon  their  unsuspecting-  prey, 
Quicker  than  watch-fires  on  the  mountain-top 
Send  warning's  to  the  dwellers  in  the  plain, 
Led  by  his  g-uides  he  reached  Nirvana's  verge, 
Whence  he  beheld  a  broad  and  pleasant  plain, 
Spread  with  a  carpet  of  the  richest  green 
And  decked  with  flowers  of  every  varied  tint, 

(107) 


108  THE   DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Whose  blended  odors  fill  the  balmy  air, 

Where  trees,  pleasant  to  sight  and  good  for  foodr 

In  rich  abundance  and  spontaneous  grow. 

A  living"  stream,  as  purest  crystal  clear, 

With  gentle  murmurs  wound  along"  the  plain, 

Its  surface  bright  with  fairer  lotus-flowers 

Than  mortal  eye  on  earth  had  ever  seen, 

While  on  its  banks  were  cool,  umbrageous  groves 

Whose  drooping-  branches  spicy  breezes  stir, 

A  singing  bird  in  every  waving  bough, 

Whose  joyful  notes  the  soul  of  music  shed. 

A  mighty  multitude,  beyond  the  power 
Of  men  to  number,  moved  about  the  plain ; 
Some,    seeming     strangers,    wander    through    the 

groves 

And  pluck  the  flowers  or  eat  the  luscious  fruits  ; 
Some,  seeming  visitors  from  better  worlds, 
Here  wait  and  watch  as  for  expected  guests  ; 
While  angel  devas,  clothed  in  innocence, 
Whose  faces  beam  with  wisdom,  glow  with  love, 
With  loving  welcomes  greet  each  coming  guest, 
With  loving  counsels  aid,  instruct  and  guide. 
And  as  he  looked,  the  countless,  restless  throng 
Seemed  ever  changing,  ever  moving  on, 
So  that  this  plain,  comparing  great  to  small, 
Seemed  like  a  station  near  some  royal  town, 
Greater  than  London  or  old  Bab}Tlon, 
Where  all  the  roads  from  some  vast  empire  meet,. 
And  many  caravans  or  sweeping  trains 
Bring  and  remove  the  ever-changing  throng. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VI.  109 

This  plain  a  valley  bordered,  deep  and  still, 
The  very  valley  of  his  fearful  dream 
Seen  from  the  other  side,  whose  rising-  mists 
Were  all  ag-low  with  ever-chang-ing-  light. 
Like  passing1  clouds  above  the  setting-  sun, 
Throug-h  which  as  throug-h  a  g-lass  he  darkly  saw 
Unnumbered  funeral-trains,  in  sable  clad, 
To  solemn  music  and  with  measured  tread 
Bearing-  their  dead  to  countless  funeral-piles, 
As  thick  as  heaps  that  throug-h  the  livelong-  day 
With  patient  toil  the  sturdy  woodmen  rear, 
While  clearing-  forests  for  the  g-olden  grain, 
And  set  aflame  when  evening-'s  shades  descend, 
Filling-  the  g-lowing-  woods  with  floods  of  lig-ht 
And  g-hostly  shadows  :     So  these  funeral-piles 
Send  up  their  curling-  smoke  and  crackling-  flames. 

There  eag-er  flames  devour  an  infant's  flesh  ; 
Here  loving-  arms  that  risen  infant  clasp  ; 
There  loud  laments  bewail  a  loved  one  lost ; 
Here  joyful  welcomes  greet  that  loved  one  found. 
And  there  he  saw  a  pompous  funeral-train, 
Bearing-  a  body  clothed  in  robes  of  state, 
To  blare  of  trumpet,  sound  of  shell  and  drum, 
While  many  mourners  bow  in  silent  grief, 
And  widows,  orphans  raise  a  loud  lament 
As  for  a  father,  a  protector  lost ; 
And  as  the  flames  lick  up  the  fragrant  oils, 
And  whirl  and  hiss  around  that  wasting-  form, 
An  eag-er  watcher  from  a  better  world 
Welcomes  her  husband  to  her  open  arms, 


110  THE   DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

The  cumbrous  load  of  pomp  and  power  cast  off, 
While  waiting  devas  and  the  happy  throng 
His  power  protected  and  his  bounty  blessed 
With  joy  conduct  his  unaccustomed  steps 
Onward  and  upward,  to  those  blissful  seats 
Where  all  his  stores  of  duties  well  performed, 
Of  power  well  used  and  wealth  in  kindness  given, 
Were  garnered  up  beyond  the  reach  of  thieves, 
Where  moths  ne'er  eat  and  rust  can   ne'er  corrupt. 

Another  train  draws  near  a  funeral-pile, 
Of  aloes,  sandal-wood  and  cassia  built, 
And  drenched  with  every  incense-breathing  oil, 
And  draped  with  silks  and  rich  with  rarest  flowers, 
Where  grim  officials  clothed  in  robes  of  state 
Placed  one  in  royal  purple,  decked  with  gems, 
Whose  word  had  been  a  trembling  nation's  law, 
Whose  angry  nod  was  death  to  high  or  low. 
No  mourners  gather  round  this  costly  pile  ; 
The  people  shrink  in  terror  from  the  sight. 
But  sullen  soldiers  there  keep  watch  and  ward 
While  eager  flames  consume  those  nerveless  hands 
So  often  raised  to  threaten  or  command, 
Suck  out  those  eyes  that  filled  the  court  with  fear, 
And  only  left  of  all  this  royal  pomp 

A  little  dust  the  winds  may  blow  away. 

i 

But  here  that  selfsame  monarch  comes  in  view, 
For  royal  purple  clothed  in  filthy  rags, 
And  lusterless  that  crown  of  priceless  gems ; 
Those  eyes,  whose  bend  so  lately  awed  the  world, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VI.  Ill 

Blinking-  and  bleared  and  blinded  by  the  light ; 
Those  hands,  that  late  a  royal  scepter  bore, 
Shaking-  with  fear  and  dripping-  all  with  blood. 
And  as  he  looked  that  some  should  g"ive  him  place 
And  lead  him  to  a  seat  for  monarchs  fit, 
He  only  saw  a  group  of  innocents 
His  hands  had  slain,  now  clothed  in  spotless  white, 
From  whom  he  fled  as  if  by  furies  chased, 
Fled  from  those  groves  and  g-ardens  of  delig-ht, 
Fled  on  and  down  a  broad  and  beaten  road 
By  many  trod,  and  toward  a  desert  waste 
With  distance  dim,  and  g-loomy,  grim  and  vast, 
Where  piercing-  thorns  and  leafless  briars  grow, 
And  dead  sea-apples,  ashes  to  the  taste, 
Where  loathsome  reptiles  crawl  and  hiss  and  sting-, 
And  birds  of  nig-ht  and  bat-winged  dragons  fly, 
Where  beetling  cliffs  seem  threatening  instant  fall, 
And  opening  chasms  seem  yawning  to  devour, 
And  sulphurous  seas  were  swept  with  lurid  flames 
That  seethe  and  boil  from  hidden  fires  below. 

Again  he  saw,  beyond  that  silent  vale, 
One  frail  and  old,  without  a  rich  man's  gate 
Laid  down  to  die  beneath  a  peepul-tree, 
And  parched  with  thirst  and  pierced  with  sudden 

pain, 

A  root  his  pillow  and  the  earth  his  bed  ; 
Alone  he  met  the  King  of  terrors  there  ; 
Whose  wasting  body,  cumbering  now  the  ground, 
Chandalas  cast  upon  the  passing  stream 
To  float  and  fester  in  the  fiery  sun, 


112  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Till  whirled  by  eddies,  caught  by  roots,  it  lay 
A  prey  for  vultures  and  for  fishes  food. 

That  selfsame  day  a  dart  of  deadly  pain 
Shot    through    that   rich    man's   hard,    unfeeling- 
heart, 

That  laid  him  low,  beyond  the  power  to  save, 
E'en  while  his  servants  cast  without  his  gates 
That  poor  old  man,  who  came  to  beg  him  spare 
His  roof-tree,  where  his  fathers  all  had  died, 
His  hearth,  the  shrine  of  all  his  inmost  joys, 
His  little  home,  to  every  heart  so  dear ; 
And  in  due  season  tongues  of  hissing  flames 
That  rich  man's  robes  like  snowflakes  whirled  in 

air, 

And  curled  his  crackling  skin,  consumed  his  flesh, 
And  sucked  the  marrow  from  his  whitened  bones. 

But  here  these  two  their  places  seem  to  change. 
That  rich  man's  houses,  lands,  and  flocks  and  herds, 
His  servants,  rich  apparel,  stores  of  gold, 
And  all  he  loved  and  lived  for  left  behind, 
The  friends  that  nature  gave  him  turned  to  foes, 
Dependents   whom    his    greed   had   wronged   and 

crushed 

Shrinking  away  as  from  a  deadly  foe ; 
No  generous  wish,  no  gentle,  tender  thought 
To  hide  his  nakedness,  his  shriveled  soul 
Stood  stark  and  bare,  the  gaze  of  passers-by  ; 
Nothing  within  to  draw  him  on  and  up, 
He  slinks  away,  and  wanders  on  and  down, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE   CHRIST — BOOK  VI.  113 

Till  in  the  desert,  groveling1  in  the  dust, 

He  digs  and  burrows,  seeking-  treasures  there  — 

While  that  poor  man,  as  we  count  poverty, 

Is  rich  in  all  that  makes  the  spirit's  wealth, 

His  heart  so  pure  that  thoughts  of  guile 

And  evil  purpose  find  no  lodgment  there ; 

His  life  so  innocent  that  bitter  words 

And  evil-speaking  ne'er  escape  his  lips  ; 

The  little  that  he  had  he  freely  shared, 

And  wished  it  more  that  more  he  might  have  given  ; 

Now  rich  in  soul  —  for  here  a  crust  of  bread 

In  kindness  shared,  a  cup  of  water  given, 

Is  worth  far  more  than  all  Potosi's  mines, 

And  Araby's  perfumes  and  India's  silks, 

And  all  the  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills  — 

And  clothed  as  with  a  robe  of  innocence 

The  devas  welcome  him,  his  troubles  passed, 

The  conflict  ended  and  the  triumph  gained. 

And  there  two  Brahmans  press  their  funeral-pile, 
And  sink  to  dust  amid  the  whirling  flames. 
Each  from  his  lisping  infancy  had  heard 
That  Brahmans  were  a  high  and  holy  caste, 
Too  high  and  holy  for  the  common  touch, 
And  each  had  learned  the  Vedas'  sacred  lore. 
But  here  they  parted.     One  was  cold  and  proud, 
Drawing  away  from  all  the  humbler  castes 
As  made  to  toil,  and  only  fit  to  serve. 
The  other  found  within  those  sacred  books 
That  all  were  brothers,  made  of  common  clay, 
And  filled  with  life  from  one  eternal  source, 


114  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

While  Brahmans  only  elder  brothers  were, 
With  greater  light  to  be  his  brother's  guide, 
With  greater  strength  to  give  his  brother  aid  ; 
That  he  alone  a  real  Brahman  was 
Who  had  a  Brahman's  spirit,  not  his  blood. 
With  patient  toil  from  youth  to  hoary  ag-e 
He  taught  the  ignorant  and  helped  the  weak. 
And  now  they  come  where  all  external  pomp 
And  rank  and  caste  and  creed  are  nothing  worth. 
But  when  that  proud  and  haughty  Brahman  saw 
Poor  Sudras  and  Chandalas  clothed  in  white, 
He  swept  away  with  proud  and  haughty  scorn, 
Swept  on  and  down  where  heartless  selfishness 
Alone  can  find  congenial  company. 
The  other,  full  of  joy,  his  brothers  met, 
And  in  sweet  harmony  they  journeyed  on 
Where  higher  joys  await  the  pure  in  heart. 

And  there  he  saw  all  ranks  and  grades  and  castes, 
Chandala,  Sudra,  warrior,  Brahman,  prince, 
The  wise  and  ignorant,  the  strong  and  weak, 
In  all  the  stages  of  our  mortal  round 
From  lisping  infancy  to  palsied  age, 
By  all  the  ways  to  human  frailty  known, 
Enter  that  vale  of  shadows,  deep  and  still, 
Leaving  behind  their  pomp  and  power  and  wealth. 
Leaving  their  rags  and  wretchedness  and  want, 
And  cast-off  bodies,  dust  to  dust  returned, 
By  flames  consumed  or  moldering  to  decay, 
While  here  the  real  character  appeared, 
All  shows,  hypocrisies  and  shams  cast  off, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VI.  115 

So  that  a  life  of  gentleness  and  love 

Shines  through  the  face  and  molds  the  outer  form 

To  living-  beauty,  blooming  not  to  fade, 

While  every  act  of  cruelty  and  crime 

Seems  like  a  gangrened  ever-widening  wound, 

Wasting  the  very  substance  of  the  soul, 

Marring  its  beauty,  eating  out  its  strength. 

And  here  arrived,  the  good,  in  little  groups 
Together  drawn  by  inward  sympathy, 
And  led  by  devas,  take  the  upward  way 
To  those  sweet  fields  his  opened  eyes  had  seen, 
Those  ever-widening  mansions  of  delight  ; 
While  those  poor  souls  —  O  sad  and  fearful  sight !  — 
The  very  well-springs  of  the  life  corrupt, 
Shrink  from  the  light  and  shun  the  pure  and  good, 
Fly  from  the  devas,  who  with  perfect  love 
Would  gladly  soothe  their  anguish,  ease  their  pain, 
Fly  on  and  down  that  broad  and  beaten  road, 
Till  in  the  distance  in  the  darkness  lost. 
Lost !  lost  !  and  must  it  be  forever  lost  ? 
The  gentle  Buddha's  all-embracing  love 
Shrunk  from  the  thought,  but  rather  sought  relief 
In  that  most  ancient  faith  by  sages  taught, 
That  these  poor  souls  at  length  may  find  escape, 
The  grasping  in  the  gross  and  greedy  swine, 
The  cunning  in  the  sly  and  prowling  fox, 
The  cruel  in  some  ravening  beast  of  prey  ; 
While  those  less  hardened,  less  depraved,  may  gain 


1 16  THE    DAWN   AND  THE  DAY. 

Rebirth  in  men,  degraded,  groveling,  base.* 

But  here  in  sadness  let  us  drop  the  veil, 
Hoping"  that  He  whose  ways  are  not  like  ours, 
Whose  love  embraces  all  His  handiwork, 
Who  in  beginnings  sees  the  final  end, 
May  find  some  way  to  save  these  sinful  souls 
Consistent  with  His  fixed  eternal  law 
That  good  from  good,  evil  from  evil  flows. 

Here  Buddha  saw  the  mystery  of  life 
At  last  unfolded  to  its  hidden  depths. 
He  saw  that  selfishness  was  sorrow's  root, 
And  ignorance  its  dense  and  deadly  shade ; 
He  saw  that  selfishness  bred  lust  and  hate, 
Deformed  the  features,  and  defiled  the  soul 
And  closed  its  windows  to  those  waves  of  love 
That  flow  perennial  from  Nirvana's  Sun. 
He  saw  that  groveling  lusts  and  base  desires 
Like  noxious  weeds  unchecked  luxurious  grow, 
Making  a  tangled  jungle  of  the  soul, 
Where  no  good  seed  can  find  a  place  to  root, 
Where  noble  purposes  and  pure  desires 
And  gentle  thoughts  wither  and  fade  and  die 
Like  flowers  beneath  the  deadly  upas-tree. 
He  saw  that  selfishness  bred  grasping  greed, 
And  made  the  miser,  made  the  prowling  thief, 
And  bred  hypocrisy,  pretense,  deceit, 

*  The  later  Buddhists  make  much  of  the  doctrine  of  metempsychosis, 
but  in  the  undoubted  saying's  and  Sutras  or  sermons  of  Buddha  I  find 
no  mention  of  it  except  in  this  way  as  the  last  hope  of  those  who  per 
sist  through  life  in  evil,  while  the  good  after  death  reach  the  other  shore, 
or  Nirvana,  where  there  is  no  more  birth  or  death. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VI.  117 

And  made  the  bigot,  made  the  faithless  priest, 

Bred  anger,  cruelty,  and  thirst  for  blood, 

And  made  the  tyrant,  stained  the  murderer's  knife, 

And  filled  the  world  with  war  and  want  and  woe, 

And  filled  the  dismal  regions  of  the  lost 

With  fiery  flames  of  passions  never  quenched, 

With  sounds  of  discord,  sounds  of  clanking  chains, 

With  cries  of  anguish,  howls  of  bitter  hate, 

Yet    saw    that    man    was   free  —  not    bound    and 

chained* 

Helpless  and  hopeless  to  a  whirling  wheel, 
Rolled  on  resistless  by  some  cruel  power, 
Regardless  of  their  cries   and  prayers  and  tears  — 
Free  to  resist  those  gross  and  groveling  lusts, 
Free  to  obey  Nirvana's  law  of  love, 
The  law  of  order  —  primal,  highest  law  — 
Which  guides  the  great  Artificer  himself, 
Who  weaves  the  garments  of  the  joyful  spring, 
Who  paints  the  glories  of  the  passing  clouds, 
Who  tunes  the  music  of  the  rolling  spheres, 
Guided  by  love  in  all  His  mighty  works, 
Filling  with  love  the  humblest  willing  heart. 

He  saw  that  love  softens  and  sweetens  life, 
And  stills  the  passions,  soothes  the  troubled  breast, 
Fills  homes  with  joy  and  gives  the  nations  peace, 

"This  great  and  fundamental  truth,  lying-  as  the  basis  of  human 
action  and  responsibility,  was  recognized  by  Homer,  who  makes  Jupiter 
say  : 

"  Perverse   mankind,  whose  wills  created  free, 
Charge   all  their  woes  to  absolute  decree." 

Odyssey,  Book  I,  lines  41  and  4> 


118  THE   DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

A  sovereign  balm  for  all  the  spirit's  wounds, 

The  living"  fountain  of  Nirvana's  bliss  ; 

For  here  before  his  eyes  were  countless  souls, 

Born  to  the  sorrows  of  a  sinful  world, 

With  burdens  bowed,  by  cares  and  griefs  oppressed, 

Who  felt  for  others'  sorrows  as  their  own, 

Who  lent  a  helping-  hand  to  those  in  need, 

Returning-  g-ood  for  evil,  love  for  hate, 

Whose  g-arments  now  were  white  as  spotless  wool, 

Whose  faces  beamed  with  g-entleness  and  love, 

As  onward,  upward,  devas  guide  their  steps, 

Nirvana's  happy  mansions  full  in  view. 

He  saw  the  noble  eightfold  path  that  mounts 
From  life's  low  levels  to  Nirvana's  heights. 
Not  by  steep  grades  the  strong  alone  can  climb, 
But  by  such  steps  as  feeblest  limbs  may  take. 
He  saw  that  day  by  day  and  step  by  step, 
By  lusts  resisted  and  by  evil  shunned, 
By  acts  of  love  and  daily  duties  done, 
Soothing  some  heartache,  helping  those  in  need, 
Smoothing  life's  journey  for  a  brother's  feet, 
Guarding  the  lips  from  harsh  and  bitter  words, 
Guarding  the  heart  from  gross  and  selfish  thoughts, 
Guarding  the  hands  from  every  evil  act, 
Brahman  or  Sudra,  high  or  low,  may  rise 
Till  heaven's  bright  mansions  open  to  the  view, 
And   heaven's   warm   sunshine   brightens   all   the 

way  ; 

While  neither  hecatombs  of  victims  slain, 
Nor  clouds  of  incense  wafted  to  the  skies, 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VI.  119 

Nor  chanted  hymns,  nor  prayers  to  all  the  gods, 
Can  raise  a  soul  that  ding's  to  groveling1  lusts. 

He  saw  the  cause  of  sorrow,  and  its  cure. 
He  saw  that  waves  of  love  surround  the  soul 
As  waves  of  sunlight  fill  the  outer  world, 
While  selfishness,  the  subtle  alchemist 
Concealed  within,  changes  that  love  to  hate, 
Forges  the  links  of  karma's  fatal  chain, 
Of  passions,  envies,  lusts  to  bind  the  soul, 
And  weaves  his  webs  of  falsehood  and  deceit 
To  close  its  windows  to  the  living  light, 
Changing  its  mansion  to  its  prison-house, 
Where  it  must  lay  self-chained  and  self-condemned  ; 
While  DHARMA,  TRUTH,  the  LAW,  the  LIVING  WORD, 
Brushes  away  those  deftly  woven  webs, 
Opens  its  windows  to  the  living  light, 
Reveals  the  architect  of  all  its  ills, 
Scatters  the  timbers  of  its  prison-house,* 
And  snaps  in  twain  those  bitter,  galling  chains 
So  that  the  soul  once  more  may  stand  erect, 
Victor  of  self,  no  more  to  be  enslaved, 
And  live  in  charity  and  gentle  peace, 
Bearing  all  meekly,  loving  those  who  hate ; 
And  when  at  last  the  fated  stream  is  reached, 

*  After  examining'  the  attempted  explanations  of  that  remarkable 
passage,  the  original  of  which  is  given  at  the  end  of  the  sixth  book  of 
Arnold's  "  Light  of  Asia,"  I  am  satisfied  this  is  its  true  interpretation. 
It  is  not  the  death  of  the  body,  for  he  lived  forty-five  years  afterwards, 
much  less  the  annihilation  of  the  soul,  as  some  have  imagined,  but  the 
conquest  of  the  passions  and  gross  and  selfish  desires  which  make  hu 
man  life  a  prison,  the  very  object  and  end  of  the  highest  Christian 
teachings  and  aspirations. 


120  THE   DAWN   AND  THE    DAY,  OR 

With  lightened  boat  to  reach  the  other  shore. 
And  here  he  found  the  light  he  long-  had  sought, 
Gilding  at  once  Nirvana's  blissful  heights 
And  lighting  life's  sequestered,  lowly  vales — 
A  light  whose  inner  life  is  perfect  love, 
A  love  whose  outer  form  is  living  light, 
Nirvana's  Sun,  the  Light  of  all  the  worlds,* 
Heart  of  the  universe,  whose  mighty  pulse 
Gives  heaven,  the  worlds  and  even  hell  their  life, 
Maker  and  Father  of  all  living  things 
Matreya's  f  self,  the  Lover,  Saviour,  Guide, 
The  last,  the  greatest  Buddha,  who  must  rule 
As  Lord  of  all  before  the  kalpa's  end. 

The  way  of  life  —  the  noble  eightfold  path, 
The  way  of  truth,  the  Dharma-pada  —  found, 
With  joy  he  bade  his  loving  guides  farewell, 
With  joy  he  turned  from  all  those  blissful  scenes. 
And  when  the  rosy  dawn  next  tinged  the  east, 
And  morning's  burst  of  song  had  waked  the  day, 

*  "  Know  then  thai  heaven  and  earth's  compacted  frame, 
And  flowing  waters,  and  the  starry  flame. 
And  both  the  radiant  lights,  one  common  soul 
Inspires  and  feeds  and  animates  the  whole." 

Dryden's  Virgil.  Book  VI,  line  360. 

t  Buddha  predicted  that  Matreya  (Love  incarnate)  would  be  his 
successor  (see  Beal's  Fa  Hian,  page  137,  note  2,  and  page  162;  also 
Hardy's  Manual,  page  386,  and  Oldenburgh's  Buddhism,  page  386),  who 
was  to  come  at  the  end  of  five  hundred  years  at  the  end  of  his  Dharma 
(see  Buddhism  and  Christianity,  Lillie,  page  2). 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  this  successor  is  the  most  common 
object  of  worship  among  Buddhists,  so  that  the  most  advanced  Bud 
dhists  and  the  most  earnest  Christians  have  the  same  object  of  worship 
tinder  different  names. 


THE   BUDDHA-  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VI.  121 

With  staff  and  bowl  he  left  the  sacred  tree  — 
Where  pilgrims,  passing-  pathless  mountain-heights, 
And  desert  sands,  and  ocean's  stormy  waves, 
From  every  nation,  speaking-  every  tong-ue, 
Should  come  in  after-times  to  breathe  their  vows  — 
Beginning-  on  that  day  his  pilgrimage 
Of  five  and  forty  years  from  place  to  place, 
Breaking-  the  cruel  chains  of  caste  and  creed, 
Teaching-  the  law  of  love,  the  way  of  life. 


BOOK  VII. 


ALONE  on  his  great  mission  going-  forth, 
Down  Phalgu's  valley  he  retraced  his  steps, 
Down  past  the  seat  where  subtle  Mara  sat, 
And  past  the  fountain  where  the  siren  sang, 
And  past  the  city,  through  the  fruitful  fields 
And  gardens  he  had  traversed  day  by  day 
For  six  long  years,  led  by  a  strong  desire 
To  show  his  Brahman  teachers  his  new  light. 
But  ah  !  the  change  a  little  time  had  wrought ! 
A  new-made  stupa  held  their  gathered  dust, 
While  they  had  gone  where  all  see  eye  to  eye, 
The  darkness  vanished  and  the  river  crossed. 

Then  turning  sadly  from  this  hallowed  spot- 
Hallowed  by  strivings  for  a  higher  life 
More  than  by  dust  this  little  mound  contained— 
He  sought  beneath  the  spreading  banyan-tree 
His  five  companions,  whom  he  lately  lett 
Sad  at  his  own  departure  from  the  way 
The  sacred  Vedas  and  the  fathers  taught. 
They  too  had  gone,  to  Varanassi*  gone, 
High  seat  and  centre  of  all  sacred  lore. 

*  Varanassi  is  an  old  name  of  Benares. 

(122) 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.  123 

The  day  was  well-nigh  spent  ;  his  cave  was  near, 
Where  he  had  spent  so  many  weary  years, 
And  as  he  thither  turned  and  upward  climbed, 
The  shepherd's  little  child  who  watched  the  flock 
His  love  had  rescued  from  the  bloody  knife, 
Upon  a  rock  that  rose  above  his  path 
Saw  him  pass  by,  and  ran  with  eagerness 
To  bear  the  news.     Joy  filled  that  humble  home. 
They  owed  him  all.  The  best  they  had  they  brought, 
And  offered  it  with  loving"  gratitude. 
The  master  ate,  and  as  he  ate  he  taught 
These  simple  souls  the  great,  the  living1  truth 
That  love  is  more  than  costly  sacrifice  ; 
That  daily  duties  done  are  highest  praise  ; 
That  when  life's  duties  end  its  sorrows  end, 
And  higher  joys  await  the  pure  in  heart. 
Their  eager  souls  drank  in  his  living  words 
As  those  who  thirst  drink  in  the  living  spring. 
Then  reverently  they  kissed  his  garment's  hem, 
And  home  returned,  while  he  lay  down  to  sleep. 
And  sweetly  as  a  babe  the  master  slept  — 
No  doubts,  no  darkness,  and  no  troubled  dreams. 
When  rosy  dawn  next  lit  the  eastern  sky, 
And  morning's  grateful  coolness  filled  the  air, 
The  master  rose  and  his  ablutions  made. 
With  bowl  and  staff  in  hand  he  took  his  way 
Toward  Varanassi,  hoping  there  to  find 
The  five  toward  whom  his  earnest  spirit  yearned. 

Ten  days  have  passed,  and  now  the  rising  sun 
That  hangs  above  the  distant  mountain-peaks 


124  THE  DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Is  mirrored  back  by  countless  rippling-  waves 
That  dance  upon  the  Ganges'  yellow  stream, 
Swollen  by  rains  and  melted  mountain-snows, 
And  glorifies  the  thousand  sacred  fanes* 
With  gilded  pinnacles  and  spires  and  domes 
That  rise  in  beauty  on  its  farther  bank, 
While  busy  multitudes  glide  up  and  down 
With  lightly  dipping  oars  and  swelling  sails. 
And  pilgrims  countless  as  those  shining  waves, 
From  far  and  near,  from  mountain,  hill  and  plain, 
With  dust  and  travel-stained,  foot-sore,  heart-sick, 
Here  came  to  bathe  within  the  sacred  stream, 
Here  came  to  die  upon  its  sacred  banks, 
Seeking  to  wash  the  stains  of  guilt  away, 
Seeking  to  lay  their  galling  burdens  down. 
Scoff  not  at  these  poor  heavy-laden  souls  ! 
Blindly  they  seek,  but  that  all-seeing  Eye 
That  sees  the  tiny  sparrow  when  it  falls, 
Is  watching  them,  His  angels  hover  near. 
Who  knows  what  visions  meet  their  dying  gaze  ? 
Who  knows  what  joys  await  those  troubled  hearts  ? 

The  ancient  writings  say  that  having  naught 
To  pay  the  ferryman,  the  churl  refused 
To  ferry  him  across  the  swollen  stream, 
When  he  was  raised  and  wafted  throusfh  the  air. 


*  It  can  be  no  exaggeration  to  put  the  number  of  sacred  edifices  that 
burst  upon  Buddha's  view  as  he  first  saw  the  holy  city,  at  1,000,  as  Phil 
lips  Brooks  puts  the  present  number  of  such  edifices  in  Benares  at  5,000. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.  125 

What  matter  whether  that  all-powerful  Love 

Which  moves  the  worlds,  and  bears  with  all  our  sins, 

Sent  him  a  chariot  and  steeds  of  fire, 

Or  moved  the  heart  of  some  poor  fisherman 

To  bear  him  over  for  a  brother's  sake  ? 

All  power  is  His,  and  men  can  never  thwart 

His  all-embracing'  purposes  of  love. 

Now  past  the  stream  and  near  the  sacred  grove 
The  deer-park  called,  the  five  saw  him  approach. 
But  grieved  at  his  departure  from  the  way 
The  ancient  sag-es  taug-ht,  said  with  themselves 
They  would  not  rise  or  do  him  reverence. 
But  as  he  nearer  came,  the  tender  love, 
The  holy  calm  that  shone  upon  his  face, 
Made  them  at  once  forget  their  firm  resolve. 
They  rose  tog-ether,  doing-  reverence, 
And  bringing-  water  washed  his  way-soiled  feet, 
Gave  him  a  mat,  and  said  as  with  one  voice  : 
"  Master  Gautama,  welcome  to  our  grove. 
Here  rest  your  weary  limbs  and  share  our  shade. 
Have  you  escaped  from  karma's  fatal  chains 
And  gained  clear  vision — found  the  living  light  ?" 

"  Call  me  not  master.     Profitless  to  you 
Six  years  have  passed,"  the  Buddha  answered  them, 
"  In  doubt  and  darkness  groping  blindly  on. 
But  now  at  last  the  day  has  surely  dawned. 
These  eyes  have  seen  Nirvana's  sacred  Sun, 
And  found  the  noble  eig-htfold  path  that  mounts 


126  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

From  life's  low  levels,  mounts  from  death's  dark 

shades 

To  changeless  day,  to  never-ending-  rest." 
Then  with  the  prophet's  newly  kindled  zeal, 
Zeal  for  the  truth  his  opened  eyes  had  seen, 
Zeal  for  the  friends  whose  struggles  he  had  shared, 
Softened  by  sympathy  and  tender  love, 
He  taught  how  selfishness  was  primal  cause 
Of  every  ill  to  which  frail  flesh  is  heir, 
The  poisoned  fountain  whence  all  sorrows  flow, 
The  loathsome  worm  that  coils  about  the  root 
And  kills  the  germ  of  every  springing  joy, 
The  subtle  ^oe  that  sows  by  night  the  tares 
That  quickly  springing  choke  the  goodly  seed 
Which  left  to  grow  would  fill  the  daily  life 
With  balmy  fragrance  and  with  precious  fruit. 
He  showed  that  selfishness  was  life's  sole  bane 
And  love  its  great  and  sovereign  antidote. 
He  showed  how  selfishness  would  change  the  child 
From  laughing  innocence  to  greedy  youth 
And  heartless  manhood,  cold  and  cruel  age, 
Which  past  the  vale  and  stript  of  all  disguise 
Shrinks  from  the  good,  and  eager  slinks  away 
And  seeks  those  dismal  regions  of  the  lost 
His  opened  eyes  with  sinking  heart  had  seen. 
Then  showed  how  love  its  guardian  angel  paints 
Upon  the  cooing  infant's  smiling  face, 
Grows  into  gentle  youth,  and  manhood  rich 
In  works  of  helpfulness  and  brotherhood, 
And  ripens  into  mellow,  sweet  old  age, 
Childhood  returned  with  all  its  gentleness, 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.  127 

Whose  funeral-pile  but  lights  the  upward  way 
To  those  sweet  fields  his  opened  eyes  had  seen, 
Those  ever-widening1  mansions  of  delight. 

Enwrapt  the  teacher  taught  the  living  truth ; 
Enwrapt  the  hearers  heard  his  living  words  ; 
The  night  unheeded  winged  its  rapid  flight, 
The  morning  found  their  souls  from  darkness  free. 

Six  yellow  robes  Benares  daily  saw, 
Six  wooden  alms-bowls  held  for  daily  food, 
Six  meeting  sneers  with  smiles  and  hate  with  love, 
Six  watchers  by  the  pilgrim's  dying  bed, 
Six  noble  souls  united  in  the  work 
Of  giving  light  and  hope  and  help  to  all. 

A  rich  and  noble  youth,  an  only  son, 
Had  seen  Gautama  passing  through  the  streets, 
A  holy  calm  upon  his  noble  face, 
Had  heard  him  tell  the  pilgrims  by  the  stream, 
Gasping  for  breath  and  breathing  out  their  lives, 
Of  higher  life  and  joys  that  never  end  ; 
And  wearied,  sated  by  the  daily  round 
Of  pleasure,  luxury  and  empty  show 
That  waste  his  days  but  fail  to  satisfy, 
Yet  fearing  his  companions'  gibes  and  sneers, 
He  sought  the  master  in  the  sacred  grove 
When  the  full  moon  was  mirrored  in  the  stream, 
The  sleeping  city  silvered  by  its  light ; 
And  there  he  lingered,  drinking  in  his  words, 
Till  night  was  passed  and  day  was  well-nigh  spent. 


128  THE   DAWN   AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

The  father,  anxious  for  his  absent  son, 
Had  sought  him  through  the  night  from  street  to 

street 

In  every  haunt  that  youthful  folly  seeks, 
And  now  despairing-  sought  the  sacred  grove  — 
Perhaps  by  chance,  perhaps  led  by  the  light 
That  guides  the  pig-eon  to  her  distant  home  — 
And  found  him  there.     He  too  the  Buddha  heard, 
And  finding  light,  and  filled  with  joy,  he  said : 
"  Illustrious  master,  you  have  found  the  way. 
You  place  the  upturned  chalice  on  its  base. 
You  fill  with  light  the  saying's  dark  of  old. 
You  open  blinded  eyes  to  see  the  truth." 

At  length  they  thought  of  those  poor  hearts  at 

home, 

Mother  and  sister,  watching-  through  the  night- 
Waiting-  and  watching  through  the  livelong-  day, 
Startled  at  every  step,  at  every  sound, 
Startled  at  every  bier  that  came  in  view 
In  that  great  city  of  the  strang-er  dead, 
That  city  where  the  living-  come  to  die  — 
And  home  returned  when  evening's  rose  and  gold 
Had  faded  from  the  sky,  and  myriad  lamps 
Danced  on  the  sacred  stream,  and  moon  and  stars 
Hung  quivering  in  its  dark  and  silent  depths. 
But  day  by  day  returned,  eager  to  hear 
More  of  that  truth  that  sweetens  daily  life, 
Yet  reaches  upward  to  eternal  day. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.  129 

A  marriage-feast,*  three  festivals  in  one, 
Stirs  to  its  depths  Benares'  social  life. 
A  gorgeous  sunset  ushers  in  the  night, 
Sunset  and  city  mirrored  in  the  stream. 
Broad  marble  steps  upon  the  river-bank 
Lead  to  a  garden  where  a  blaze  of  bloom, 
A  hedge  of  rose-trees,  forms  the  outer  wall  ; 
An  aged  banyan-tree, t  whose  hundred  trunks 
Sustain  a  vaulted  roof  of  living  green 
Which  scarce  a  ray  of  noonday's  sun  can  pierce, 
The  garden's  vestibule  and  outer  court ; 
While  trees  of  every  varied  leaf  and  bloom 
Shade  many  winding  walks,  where  fountains  fall 
With  liquid  cadence  into  shining  pools. 
Above,  beyond,  the  stately  palace  stands, 
Inviting  in,  calling  to  peace  and  rest, 
As  if  a  soul  dwelt  in  its  marble  form. 

The  darkness  thickens,  when  a  flood  of  light 
Fills  every  recess,  lighting  every  nook  ; 
The  garden  hedge  a  wall  of  mellow  light, 
A  line  of  lamps  along  the  river's  bank, 
With  lamps  in  every  tree  and  lining  every  walk, 
While  lamps  thick  set  surround  each  shining  pool, 
Weaving  with  rainbow  tints  the  falling  spray. 

*  In  this  marriage-feast  three  well-known  incidents  in  the  life  of 
Buddha  and  his  teaching's  on  the  three  occasions  are  united. 

t  For  the  best  description  of  the  banyan-tree,  see  Lady  Duf- 
ferin's  account  of  the  old  tree  at  their  out-of-town  place  in  "Our 
Viceroyal  Life  in  India,"  and  "  Two  Years  in  Ceylon,"  by  C.  F.  Gordon 
Gumming'. 


130  THE  DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

And  now  the  palace  through  the  darkness  shines. 
A  thing-  of  beauty  traced  with  lines  of  light.* 

The  guests  arrive  in  light  and  graceful  boats, 
In  gay  gondolas  such  as  Venice  used, 
With  richest  carpets,  richest  canopies, 
And  over  walks  with  rose-leaves  carpeted 
Pass  to  the  palace,  whose  wide  open  gates 
Display  within  Benares'  rank  and  wealth. 
Proud  Brahman  lords  and  stately  Brahman  dames 
And  Brahman  youth  and  beauty,  all  were  there, 
Of  Aryan  blood  but  bronzed  by  India's  sun, 
Not  dressed  like  us,  as  very  fashion-plates, 
But  clothed  in  flowing  robes  of  softest  wool 
And  finest  silk,  a  harmony  of  shades, 
Sparkling  with  gems,  ablaze  with  precious  stones,  f 
Three  noble  couples  greet  their  gathering  guests  : 
An  aged  Brahman  and  his  aged  wife, 
For  fifty  years  united  in  the  bonds 
Of  wedded  love,  no  harsh,  unloving  word 
For  all  those  happy  years,  their  only  fear 
That  death  would  break  the  bonds  that  bound  their 

souls  ; 

And  next  their  eldest  born,  who  sought  his  son, 
And  drank  deep  wisdom  from  the  Buddha's  lips, 

*  Those  who  saw  the  illuminations  at  Chicago  during-  the  World's 
Fair,  with  lines  of  incandescent  electric  lights,  can  get  a  good  idea  of 
the  great  illuminations  in  India  with  innumerable  oil  lamps,  and  those 
who  did  not  should  read  Lady  Dufferin's  charming  description  of  them 
in  "  Our  Viceroyal  Life  in  India." 

t  Lady  Dnfferin  says  that  the  viceroy  never  wearied  in  his  admira 
tion  of  the  graceful  flowing  robes  of  the  East  as  contrasted  with  our 
stiff,  fashion-plate  male  attire. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.  131 

And  by  his  side  that  mother  we  have  seen 
Outwatch  the  night,  whose  sweet  and  earnest  face 
By  five  and  twenty  years  of  wedded  love, 
By  five  and  twenty  years  of  busy  cares  — 
The  cares  of  home,  with  all  its  daily  joys  — 
Had  gained  that  look  of  holy  motherhood* 
That  millions  worship  on  their  bended  knees 
As  highest  emblem  of  eternal  love  ; 
And  last  that  sister  whose  untiring  love 
Watched  by  her  mother  through  the  weary  hours, 
Her  fair  young  face  all  trust  and  happiness, 
Before  her,  rainbow-tinted  hopes  and  joys, 
Life's  dark  and  cold  and  cruel  side  concealed, 
And  by  her  side  a  noble  Brahman  youth, 
Who  saw  in  her  his  every  hope  fulfilled. 

But  where  is  now  that  erring,  wandering  son, 
The  pride  of  all  these  loyal,  loving  hearts, 
Heir  to  this  wealth  and  hope  of  this  proud  house  ? 

Seven  clothed  in  coarsest  yellow  robes  draw  near 
With  heads  close  shorn  and  bare,  unsandaled  feet, 
Alms-bowl  on  shoulder  slung  and  staff  in  hand, 
But  moving  with  that  gentle  stateliness 
That  birth  and  blood,  not  wealth  and  effort,  give, 
All  in  the  strength  of  manhood's  early  prime, 
All  heirs  to  wealth  rejected,  cast  aside, 
But  all  united  in  the  holy  cause 

*  "  The  good  Lord   could  not   be    everywhere  and   therefore   made 
mothers."— Jewish  saying-  from  the  Talmud. 


1-32  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Of  giving-  light  and  hope  and  help  to  all, 

While  earnest  greetings  from  the  evening-'s  hosts 

Show  they  are  welcome  and  expected  guests. 

Startled,  the  stately  Brahmans  turn  aside. 
"  The  heir  has  lost  his  reason,"  whispered  they, 
"And  joined  that  wandering-  prince  who  late  ap 
peared 

Among  the  yog-is  in  the  sacred  grove, 
Who  thinks  he  sees  the  truth  by  inner  sig-ht, 
Who  fain  would  teach  the  wise,  and  claims  to  know 
More  than  the  fathers  and  the  Vedas  teach." 
But  as  he  nearer  came,  his  stately  form, 
His  noble  presence  and  his  earnest  face, 
Beaming-  with  g-entleness  and  holy  love, 
Hushed  into  silence  every  rising-  sneer. 

One  of  their  number,  wise  in  sacred  lore, 
Profoundly  learned,  in  all  the  Vedas  versed, 
With  courtly  grace  saluting-  Buddha,  said  : 
"  Our  Brahman  masters  teach  that  many  ways 
Lead  up  to  Brahma  Loca,  Brahma's  rest, 
As  many  roads  from  many  distant  lands 
All  meet  before  Benares'  sacred  shrines. 
They  say  that  he  who  learns  the  Vedas'  hymns, 
Performs  the  rites  and  prays  the  many  prayers 
That  all  the  sages  of  the  past  have  taug-ht, 
In  Brahma's  self  shall  be  absorbed  at  last  — 
As  all  the  streams  from  mountain,  hill  and  plain, 
That  swell  proud  Gunga's  broad  and  sacred  stream, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.  133 

At  last  shall  mingle  with  the  ocean's  waves. 
They  say  that  Brahmans  are  a  holy  caste, 
Of  whiter  skin  and  higher,  purer  blood, 
From  Brahma  sprung-,  and  Brahma's  only  heirs, 
While  you  proclaim,  if  rumor  speaks  the  truth. 
That  only  one  hard  road  to  Brahma  leads. 
That  every  caste  is  pure,  of  common  blood. 
That  all  are  brothers,  all  from  Brahma  sprung-." 

But  Buddha,  full  of  g-entleness,  replied  : 
"Ye  call  on  Dyaus  Pittar,  Brahma,  God,* 
One  God  and  Father,  called  by  many  names, 
One  God  and  Father,  seen  in  many  forms, 
Seen  in  the  tempest,  mingling-  sea  and  sky. 
The  blinding-  sand-storm,  changing  day  to  night. 
In  gentle  showers  refreshing  thirsty  fields, 
Seen  in  the  sun  whose  rising  wakes  the  world, 
Whose  setting  calls  a  weary  world  to  rest, 
Seen  in  the  deep  o'erarching  azure  vault, 
By  day  a  sea  of  light,  shining  by  night 
With  countless  suns  of  countless  worlds  unseen, 
Making  us  seem  so  little,  God  so  great. 
Ye  say  that  Brahma  dwells  in  purest  light  ; 
Ye  say  that  Brahma's  self  is  perfect  love  ; 
Ye  pray  to  Brahma  under  many  names 


*  Max  Mueller  calls  attention  to  the  remarkable  fact  that  Dyaus 
Pittar,  the  hig-hest  name  of  deity  among-  the  ancient  Hindoos,  is  the  ex 
act  equivalent  of  Zens  Pater  among'  the  Greeks,  Jupiter  among-  the 
Romans,  and  of  "Our  Father  who  art  in  the  heavens"  in  the  divinely 
taught  and  holiest  prayer  of  our  own  religion. 


134  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

To  give  you  Brahma  Loca's  perfect  rest.* 

Your  prayers  are  vain  unless  your  hearts  are  clean. 

For  how  can  darkness  dwell  with  perfect  light  ? 

And  how  can  hatred  dwell  with  perfect  love  ? 

The  slandering-  tongue,  that  stirs  up  strife  and  hate, 

The  grasping  hand,  that  takes  but  never  gives, 

The  lying  lips,  the  cold  and  cruel  heart, 

Whence  bitterness  and  wars  and  murders  spring, 

Can  ne'er  by  prayers  to  Brahma  L/oca  climb. f 

The  pure  in  heart  alone  with  Brahma  dwell. 

Ye  say  that  Brahmans  are  a  holy  caste, 

From  Brahma  sprung  and  Brahma's  only  heirs  ; 

But  yet  in  Bactria,  whence  our  fathers  came, 

And  where  their  brothers  and  our  kindred  dwell, 

No  Brahman  ever  wore  the  sacred  cord. 

Has  mighty  Brahma  there  no  son,  no  heir  ? 

The  Brahman  mother  suffers  all  the  pangs 

Kshatriyas,  Sudras  or  the  Vassas  feel. 

The  Brahman's  body,  when  the  soul  has  fled, 


*  How  any  one  can  think  that  Buddha  did  not  believe  in  a  Supreme 
Being-  in  the  face  and  light  of  the  wonderful  Sutra  or  sermon  of 
which  the  text  is  but  a  condensation  or  abstract,  is  to  me  unaccount 
able.  It  is  equally  strange  that  any  one  should  suppose  he  regarded 
Nirvana,  which  is  but  another  name  for  Brahma  Loca,  as  meaning- 
annihilation. 

To  be  sure  he  used  the  method  afterwards  adopted  by  Socrates,  and 
now  known  as  the  Socratic  method, of  appealing  to  the  unquestioned  belief 
of  the  Brahmans  themselves  as  the  foundation  of  his  argument  in  sup 
port  of  that  fundamental  truth  of  all  religions,  that  the  pure  in  heart 
alone  can  see  God.  Bnt  to  suppose  that  he  was  using  arguments  to  con 
vince  them  that  he  did  not  believe  himself,  is  a  libel  on  one  whose  abso 
lute  truthfulness  and  sincerity  admit  of  no  question. 

t  "  He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast.1' 

— Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THB  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.  13o 

A  putrid  mass,  defiles  the  earth  and  air, 
Vile  as  the  Sudras  or  the  lowest  beasts. 
The  Brahman  murderer,  libertine  or  thief 
Ye  say  will  be  reborn  in  lowest  beast, 
While  some  poor  Sudra,  full  of  gentleness 
And  pity,  charity  and  trust  and  love, 
May  rise  to  Brahma  Loca's  perfect  rest. 
Why  boast  of  caste,  that  seems  so  little  worth 
To  raise  the  soul  or  ward  off  human  ill  ? 
Why  pray  for  what  we  do  not  strive  to  gain  ? 
Like  merchants  on  the  swollen  Ganges'  bank 
Praying  the  farther  shore  to  come  to  them, 
Taking  no  steps,  seeking  no  means,  to  cross. 
Far  better  strive  to  cast  out  greed  and  hate. 
Live  not  for  self,  but  live  for  others'  good. 
Indulge  no  bitter  speech,  no  bitter  thoughts. 
Help  those  in  need  ;  give  freely  what  we  have. 
Kill  not,  steal  not,  and  ever  speak  the  truth. 
Indulge  no  lust  ;  taste  not  the  maddening  bowl 
That  deadens  sense  and  stirs  all  base  desires  ; 
And  live  in  charity  and  gentle  peace, 
Bearing  all  meekly,  loving  those  who  hate. 
This  is  the  way  to  Brahma  Loca's  rest. 
And  ye  who  may,  come,  follow  after  me. 
Leave  wealth  and  home  and  all  the  joys  of  life, 
That  we  may  aid  a  sad  and  suffering  world 
In  sin  and  sorrow  groping  blindly  on, 
Becoming  poor  that  others  may  be  rich, 
Wanderers  ourselves  to  lead  the  wanderers  home. 
And  ye  who  stay,  ever  remember  this  : 


136  THE   DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

That  hearth  is  Brahma's  altar  where  love  reigns, 
That  house  is  Brahma's  temple  where  love  dwells. 
Ye  ask,  my  aged  friends,  if  death  can  break 
The  bonds  that  bind  your  souls  in  wedded  love. 
Fear  not ;  death  has  no  power  to  conquer  love. 
Go  hand  in  hand  till  death  shall  claim  his  own, 
Then  hand  in  hand  ascend  Nirvana's  heights, 
There,  hand  in  hand,  heart  beating  close  to  heartT 
Enter  that  life  whose  joys  shall  never  end, 
Perennial  youth  succeeding  palsied  age, 
Mansions  of  bliss  for  this  poor  house  of  clay, 
Labors  of  love  instead  of  toil  and  tears." 

He  spoke,  and  many  to  each  other  said  : 
"Why  hear  this  babbler  rail  at  sacred  things  — 
Our   caste,    our    faith,    our    prayers    and    sacred 

hymns  ?" 

And  strode  away  in  proud  and  sovereign  scorn  ; 
While  some  with  gladness  heard  his  solemn  words. 
All  soon  forgotten  in  the  giddy  whirl 
Of  daily  business,  daily  joys  and  cares. 
But  some  drank  in  his  words  with  eager  ears, 
And  asked  him  many  questions,  lingering  long, 
And  often  sought  him  in  the  sacred  grove 
To  hear  his  burning  words  of  living  truth. 
And  day  by  day  some  noble  Brahman  youth 
Forsook  his  wealth,  forsook  his  home  and  friends, 
And  took  the  yellow  robe  and  begging-bowl 
To  ask  for  alms  where  all  had  given  him  place, 
Meeting  with  gentleness  the  rabble's  gibes, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.  137 

Meeting"  with  smiles  the  Brahman's  haughty  scorn. 
Thus,  day  by  day,  this  school  of  prophets  grew. 
Beneath  the  banyan's  columned,  vaulted  shade, 
All  earnest  learners  at  the  master's  feet, 
Until  the  city's  busy,  bustling-  throng- 
Had  come  to  recog-nize  the  yellow  robe, 
The  poor  to  know  its  wearer  as  a  friend, 
The  sick  and  suffering-  as  a  comforter, 
While  to  the  dying-  pilgrim's  glazing-  eyes 
He  seemed  a  messeng-er  from  hig-her  worlds 
Come  down  to  raise  his  sinking-  spirit  up 
And  g-uide  his  trembling-  steps  to  realms  of  rest. 

A  year  has  passed,  and  of  this  growing-  band 
Sixty  are  rooted,  grounded  in  the  faith, 
Willing-  to  do  whate'er  the  master  bids, 
Ready  to  g-o  where'er  the  master  sends, 
Eag-er  to  join  returning-  pilgrim-bands 
And  bear  the  truth  to  India's  farthest  bounds. 

With  joy  the  master  saw  their  burning-  zeal, 
So  free  from  selfishness,  so  full  of  love, 
And  thoug-ht  of  all  those  blindly  groping-  souls 
To  whom  these  messeng-ers  would  bear  the  lig"ht. 

"  Go,"  said  the  master,   "each  a  different  way. 
Go  teach  the  common  brotherhood  of  man. 
Preach  Dharma,  preach  the  law  of  perfect  love, 
One  law  for  high  and  low,  for  rich  and  poor. 
Teach  all  to  shun  the  cudg-el  and  the  sword, 


138  THE   DAWN   AND  THE    DAY,  OR 

And  treat  with  kindness  every  living-  thing1. 
Teach  them  to  shun  all  theft  and  craft  and  greed, 
All  bitter  thoughts,  and  false  and  slanderous  speech 
That  severs  friends  and  stirs  up  strife  and  hate. 
Revere  your  own,  revile  no  brother's  faith. 
The  lig-ht  you  see  is  from  Nirvana's  Sun, 
Whose  rising-  splendors  promise  perfect  day. 
The  feeble  rays  that  light  your  brother's  path 
Are  from  the  selfsame  Sun,  by  falsehoods  hid, 
The  lingering-  shadows  of  the  passing  night. 
Chide  none  with  ig-norance,  but  teach  the  truth 
Gently,  as  mothers  guide  their  infants'  steps, 
Lest  your  rude  manners  drive  them  from  the  way 
That  leads  to  purity  and  peace  and  rest  — 
As  some  rude  swain  in  some  sequestered  vale, 
Who  thinks  the  visual  line  that  girts  him  round 
The  world's  extreme,  would  meet  with  sturdy  blows 
One  rudely  charging  him  with  ignorance, 
Yet  g-ently  led  to  some  commanding  height, 
Whence  he  could  see  the  Himalayan  peaks, 
The  rolling  hills  and  India's  spreading  plains, 
With  joyful  wonder  views  the  glorious  scene. 
Pause  not  to  break  the  idols  of  the  past. 
Be  guides  and  leaders,  not  iconoclasts. 
Their  broken  idols  shock  their  worshipers, 
But  led  to  light  they  soon  forgotten  lie." 

One  of  their  number,  young  and  strong  and  brave, 
A  merchant  ere  he  took  the  yellow  robe, 
Had  crossed  the  frozen  Himalayan  heights 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.          139 

And  found  a  race,  alien  in  tongue  and  blood, 
Gentle  as  children  in  their  daily  lives, 
Untaught  as  children  in  all  sacred  thing's, 
Living  in  wagons,  wandering  o'er  the  steppes, 
To-day  all  shepherds,  tending  countless  flocks, 
To-morrow  warriors,  cruel  as  the  grave, 
Building  huge  monuments  of  human  heads  — 
Fearless,  resistless,  with  the  cyclone's  speed 
Leaving  destruction  in  their  bloody  track, 
Who  drove  the  Aryan  from  his  native  plains 
To  seek  a  home  in  Europe's  trackless  wastes. 
He  yearned  to  seek  these  children  of  the  wilds, 
And  teach  them  peace  and  gentleness  and  love.* 
"  But,  Purna,"  said  the  master,  "  they  are  fierce. 
How  will  you  meet  their  cruelty  and  wrath  ?  " 
Purna  replied,  "  With  gentleness  and  love." 
"But,"   said    the    master,    "they    may    beat   and 

wound." 

"And  I  will  give  them  thanks  to  spare  my  life." 
"  But  with  slow  tortures  they  may  even  kill." 
"  I  with  my  latest  breath  will  bless  their  names, 
So  soon  to  free  me  from  this  prison-house 
And  send  me  joyful  to  the  other  shore." 
"Then,"  said  the  master,  "  Purna,  it  is  well. 


*  Whether  the  Tartars  were  "the  savage  tribes "  to  whom  Purna, 
one  of  the  sixty,  was  seat,  may  admit  of  question,  but  it  is  certain  that 
long  before  the  Christian  era  the  whole  country  north  of  the  Himalayas 
•was  thoroughly  Buddhist,  and  the  unwearied  missionaries  of  that  great 
faith  had  penetrated  so  far  west  that  they  met  Alexander's  army  and 
boldly  told  him  that  war  was  wrong  ;  and  they  had  penetrated  east  to 
the  confines  of  China. 


140  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Armed  with  such  patience,  seek  these  savage  tribes. 
Thyself  delivered,  free  from  karma's  chains 
These  souls  enslaved  ;  thyself  consoled,  console 
These  restless  children  of  the  desert  wastes  ; 
Thyself  this  peaceful  haven  having  reached, 
Guide  these  poor  wanderers  to  the  other  shore." 

With  many  counsels,  many  words  of  cheer, 
He  on  their  mission  sent  his  brethren  forth, 
Armed  with  a  prophet's  zeal,  a  brother's  love, 
A  martyr's  courage,  and  the  Christian's  hope 
That  when  life's  duties  end,  its  trials  end, 
And  higher  life  awaits  those  faithful  found. 

The  days  pass  on  ;  and  now  the  rising  sun 
Looks  down  on  bands  of  pilgrims  homeward  bound, 
Some  moving  north,  some  south,  some  east,  some 

west, 

Toward  every  part  of  India's  vast  expanse, 
One  clothed  in  orange  robes  with  every  band 
To  guide  their  kindred  on  the  upward  road. 

But  Purna  joined  the  merchants  he  had  led, 
Not  moved  by  thirst  for  gain,  but  love  for  man, 
To  seek  the  Tartar  on  his  native  steppes. 

Meanwhile  the  master  with  diminished  band 
Crossing  the  Ganges,  backward  wends  his  way 
Toward  Rajagriha,  and  the  vulture-peak 
Where  he  had  spent  so  many  weary  years, 


THE    BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VII.  141 

Whither  he  bade  the  brothers  gather  in* 

When  summer's  rains  should  bring-  the  time  for  rest. 


*The  larg-e  gatherings  of  the  Buddhist  brotherhoods  everywhere 
spoken  of  in  the  writings  can  only  be  accounted  for  on  the  supposi 
tion,  which  is  more  than  a  supposition,  that  they  came  to  him  in  the 
rainy  season,  when  they  could  do  but  little  in  their  missions  ;  and  the 
substantial  unity  of  the  Buddhist  faith  can  only  be  accounted  for  on 
the  supposition  that  his  instructions  were  constantly  renewed  at  these 
gatherings  and  their  errors  corrected. 


BOOK    VIII 


NORTHWARD  the  noble  Puma  took  his  way 
Till  India's  fields  and  plains  were  lost  to  view, 
Then     through     the     rugged    foot-hills     upward 

climbed, 

And  up  a  gorge  by  rocky  ramparts  walled, 
Through  which  a  mighty  torrent  thundered  down, 
Their  treacherous  way  along  the  torrent's  brink, 
Or  up  the  giddy  cliffs  where  one  false  step 
Would  plunge  them  headlong  in  the  raging  stream, 
Passing  from  cliff  to  cliff,  their  bridge  of  ropes 
Swung  high  above  the  dashing,  roaring  waves. 
At  length  they  cross  the  frozen  mountain-pass, 
O'er  wastes  of  snow  by  furious  tempests  swept, 
And  cross  a  desert  where  no  bird  or  beast 
Is  ever  seen,  and  where  their  way  is  marked 
By  bleaching  bones  strewn  thick  along  their  track.* 

Some   perished  by   the   way,    and    some   turned 

back, 
While  some  of  his  companions  persevered, 

*  I  have  substantially  followed  the  description  of  this  fearful 
route  given  by  Fa  Hian,  the  Chinese  Buddhist  pilgrim,  who  passed  by 
it  from  China  to  India. 

(142) 


THE    BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VIII.          143 

Cheered  on  by  Puma's  never-flagging-  zeal, 
And  by  the  master's  words  from  Puma's  lips, 
Until  they  reached  the  outmost  wandering  tribes 
Of  that  great  race  that  he  had  come  to  save. 
With  joy  received,    these   wandering  tribes  their 

guides  — 
For  love   makes  friends  where  selfishness  breeds 

strife  — 

They  soon  are  led  to  where  their  kindred  dwell. 
They  saw  the  vanity  of  chasing  wealth 
Through  hunger,  danger,  desolation,  death. 
They  felt  a  power  sustaining  Puma's  steps  — 
A  power  unseen  yet  ever  hovering  near  — 
They  saw  the  truth  of  Buddha's  burning  words 
That  selfishness  and  greed  drag  down  the  soul, 
While    love    can    nerve    the     feeblest    arm    with 

strength, 
And  asked  that  Puma  take  them  as  his  aids. 

But  ere  brave  Puma  reached  his  journey's  end, 
Near  many  hamlets,  many  Indian  towns, 
The  moon,  high  risen  to  mark  the  noon  of  night. 
Through  many  sacred  fig-tree's  rustling  leaves* 
Sent  trembling  rays  with  trembling  shadows  mixed 
Upon  a  noble  youth  in  orange  robes, 
His  alms-bowl  by  his  side,  stretched  out  in  sleep, 
Dreaming,  perchance,  of  some  Benares  maid, 
Perchance  of  home  and  joys  so  lately  left. 


*  Like  the  aspen,  the  leaf  of  the   sacred   fig-tree  is   always  trrm 
blinp. — "  Two  Years  in  Ceylon,"  Cummiug. 


144  THE   DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Meanwhile  the  master  with  his  little  band 
Toward  Rajagriha  backward  wends  his  way, 
Some  village  tree  their  nig-fatly  resting-place, 
Until  they  reached  the  grove  that  skirts  the  base 
Of  that  bold  mountain  called  the  vulture-peak, 
Through  which  the  lotus-covered  Phalgu  glides, 
O'erarched  with  trees  festooned  with  trailing  vines, 
While  little  streams  leap  down  from  rock  to  rock, 
Cooling  the  verdant  slopes  and  fragrant  glades, 
And  vines  and  shrubs  and  trees  of  varied  bloom 
Loaded  the  air  with  odors  rich  and  sweet, 
And  where  that  sacred  fig-tree  spread  its  shade 
Above  the  mound  that  held  the  gathered  dust 
Of  those  sage  Brahmans  who  had  sought  to  aid 
The  young  prince  struggling  for  a  clearer  light, 
And  where  that  banyan-tree  for  ages  grew, 
So  long-  the  home  of  those  five  noble  youths, 
Now  sundered  far,  some  tree  when  night  may  fall 
Their  resting-place,  their  robe  and  bowl  their  all, 
Their  only  food  chance  gathered  day  by  day, 
Preaching  the  common  brotherhood  of  man, 
Teaching  the  law  of  universal  love, 
Bearing  the  light  to  those  in  darkness  sunk, 
Lending  a  helping  hand  to  those  in  need, 
Teaching  the  strong  that  gentleness  is  great. 
And  through  this  grove  where  many  noble  souls 
Were  seeking  higher  life  and  clearer  light, 
He  took  his  well-known  way,  and  reached  his  cave 
Just  as  the  day  was  fading  into  night, 
And  myriad  stars  spangled  the  azure  vault, 


THB  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST— BOOK  VIII.  145 

And   myriad   lamps   that    through    the    darkness 

shone 

Revealed  the  city  that  the  night  had  veiled, 
Where  soon  their  weary  limbs  were  laid  to  rest  ; 
But  through  the  silent  hour  preceding"  day, 
Before  the  jungle-cock  announced  the  dawn, 
All  roused  from  sleep  in  meditation  sat. 
But  when  the  sun  had  set  the  east  aglow, 
And  roused  the  birds  to  sing  their  matin-songs, 
And  roused  the  lowing  herds  to  call  their  mates, 
And  roused  a  sleeping  world  to  dail}7  toil, 
Their  matins  chanted,  their  ablutions  made, 
With  bowl  and  staff  in  hand  they  took  their  way 
Down  to  the  city  for  their  daily  alms. 

But  earlier  steps  had  brushed  their  dewy  path. 
From  out  the  shepherd's  cottage  loving  eyes 
Had  recognized  the  master's  stately  form, 
And  love-winged  steps  had  borne  the  joyful  news 
That  he,  the  poor  man's  advocate  and  friend, 
The  sweet-voiced  messenger  of  peace  and  love, 
The  prince  become  a  beggar  for  their  sake, 
So  long  expected,  now  at  last  returns. 
From  door  to  door  the  joyful  tidings  spread, 
And  old  and  young  from  every  cottage  came. 
The  merchant  left  his  wares  without  a  guard  ; 
The  housewife  left  her  pitcher  at  the  well  ; 
The  loom  was  idle  and  the  anvil  still  ; 
The  money-changer  told  his  coins  alone, 
While  all  the  multitude  went  forth  to  meet 
Their  servant-master  and  their  beggar-prince. 


146  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

Some    brought    the    garden's    choicest    treasures 

forth. 

Some  gathered  lotuses  from  Phalgu's  stream, 
Some  climbed  the  trees  to  pluck  their  varied  bloom, 
While  children  gathered  every  wayside  flower 
To  strew  his  way —  their  lover,  savior,  guide. 

King  Bimbasara  from  his  watch-tower  saw 
The  wild  commotion  and  the  moving  throng, 
And  sent  swift  messengers  to  learn  the  cause. 
With  winged  feet  through  vacant  streets  the}7  flew, 
And  through  the  gates  and  out  an  avenue 
Where  aged  trees  that  grew  on  either  side, 
Their  giant  branches  interlocked  above, 
Made  nature's  gothic  arch  and  densest  shade, 
While  gentle  breezes,  soft  as  if  they  came 
From  devas'  hovering  wings,  rustle  the  leaves 
And  strew  the  way  with  showers  of  falling  bloom, 
As  if  they,  voiceless,  felt  the  common  joy. 
And  there  they  found  the  city's  multitudes, 
Not  as  in  tumult,  armed  with  clubs  and  staves, 
And  every  weapon  ready  to  their  hands, 
But  stretching  far  on  either  side  the  way, 
Their    flower-filled    hands    in    humble    reverence 

joined, 

The  only  sound  a  murmur,  "  There  he  comes!  " 
While  every  eye  was  turned  in  loving  gaze 
Upon  a  little  band  in  yellow  robes 
Who  now  drew  near  from  out  the  sacred  grove. 
The  master  passed  with  calm,  majestic  grace, 
Stately  and  tall,  one  arm  and  shoulder  bare, 


THE   BODDHA   AND   THE   CHRIST — BOOK   VIII.  147 

With  head  close  shorn  and  bare  unsandaled  feet ; 

His  noble  brow,  the  wonder  of  his  age, 

Not  clothed  in  terror  like  Olympic  Jove's  — 

For  love,  not  anger,  beamed  from  out  those  eyes, 

Chang-ing-  from  clearest  blue  to  softest  black, 

That  seem  to  show  unfathomed  depths  within, 

With  tears  of  holy  pity  glittering  now 

For  those  poor  souls  come  forth  to  honor  him, 

All  sheep  without  a  shepherd  groping  on. 

The  messengers  with  reverence  let  him  pass, 

Then  hastened  back  to  tell  the  waiting  king 

That  he  who  dwelt  so  long  upon  the  hill, 

The  prince  who  stopped  the  bloody  sacrifice, 

With  other  holy  rishis  had  returned, 

Whom  all  received  with  reverence  and  joy. 

The  king  with  keenest  pleasure  heard  their  words. 

That  noble  form,  that  calm,  majestic  face, 

Had  never  faded  from  his  memory. 

His  words  of  wisdom,  words  of  tender  love, 

Had  often  stayed  his  hands  when  raised  to  strike, 

Had  often  put  a  bridle  on  his  tongue 

When  harsh  and  bitter  words  leaped  to  his  lips, 

And  checked  those  cruel  acts  of  sudden  wrath 

That  stain  the  annals  of  the  greatest  kings, 

Until  the  people  to  each  other  said  : 

"  How  mild  and  gentle  our  good  king  has  grown !" 

And  when  he  heard  this  prince  had  now  returned, 

In  flower-embroidered  purple  robes  arrayed, 

With  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  state, 

Followed  by  those  who  ever  wait  on  power, 

He  issued  forth  and  climbed  the  rugged  hill 


148  THE  DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Until  he  reached  the  cave  where  Buddha  sat, 
_Calm  and  majestic  as  the  rounded  moon 
That  moves  serene  along-  its  heavenly  path. 
Greeting1  each  other  with  such  royal  grace 
As  fits  a  prince  greeting  a  brother  prince, 
The  king1  inquired  why  he  had  left  his  home  ? 
Why  he,  a  Chakravartin's  only  son, 
Had  left  his  palace  for  a  lonely  cave, 
Wore  coarsest  cloth  instead  of  royal  robes, 
And  for  a  scepter  bore  a  beg-ging--bowl  ? 
"  Youth,"  said  the  king-,  "with  full  and  bounding- 

pulse, 

Youth  is  the  time  for  boon  companionship, 
The  time  for  pleasure,  when  all  pleasures  please  ; 
Manhood,  the  time  for  g-aining-  wealth  and  power  ; 
But  as  the  years  creep  on,  the  step  infirm, 
The  arm  grown  feeble  and  the  hair  turned  gray, 
'Tis  time  to  mortify  the  five  desires, 
To  give  religion  what  of  life  is  left, 
And  look  to  heaven  when  earth  begins  to  pall. 
I  would  not  use  my  power  to  hold  you  here, 
But  offer  half  my  king-dom  for  your  aid 
To  g-overn  well  and  use  my  power  arig-ht." 
The  prince  with  g-entle  earnestness  replied : 
"O  king-,  illustrious  and  world-renowned  ! 
Your  noble  offer  throug-h  all  coming-  time 
Shall  be  remembered.     Men  will  praise  an  act 
By  likening-  it  to  Bimbasara's  gift. 
You  offer  me  the  half  of  your  domain. 
I  in  return  beseech  you  share  with  me 
Better  than  wealth,  better  than  kingly  power, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VIII.  14 

The  peace  and  joy  that  follows  lusts  subdued. 
Wait  not  on  age  —  for  age  brings  feebleness  — 
But  this  great  battle  needs  our  utmost  strength. 
If  you  will  come,  then  welcome  to  our  cave  ; 
If  not,  may  wisdom  all  your  actions  guide. 
Ruling  your  empire  in  all  righteousness, 
Preserve  your  country  and  protect  her  sons. 
Sadly  I  leave  you,  great  and  gracious  king, 
But  my  work  calls —  a  world  that  waits  for  light. 
In  yonder  sacred  grove  three  brothers  dwell — 
Kasyapa,  Gada,  Nadi,  they  are  called  ; 
Three  chosen  vessels  for  the  perfect  law, 
Three  chosen  lamps  to  light  a  groping  world, 
Who  worship  now  the  gross  material  fire 
Which  burns  and  wastes  but  fails  to  purify. 
I  go  to  tell  them  of  Nirvana's  Sun, 
Perennial  source  of  that  undying  flame, 
The  fire  of  love,  consuming  lust  and  hate 
As  forest  fires  devour  the  crackling  thorns, 
Until  the  soul  is  purified  from  sin, 
And  sorrow,  birth  and  death  are  left  behind." 

He  found  Kasyapa  as  the  setting  sun 
Was  sinking  low  behind  the  western  hills, 
And  somber  shadows  darkened  Phalgu's  vale, 
And  asked  a  place  to  pass  the  gathering  night. 
"  Here  is  a  grotto,  cooled  by  trickling  streams 
And  overhanging  shades,  fit  place  for  sleep," 
Kasyapa  said,  "  that  I  would  gladly  give  ; 
But  some  fierce  Naga  nightly  haunts  the  spot 


150  THE   DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

Whose  poisoned  breath  no  man  can  breathe  and 

live." 

"Fear  not  for  me,"  the  Buddha  answered  him, 
"  For  I  this  nig-ht  will  make  my  dwelling-  there." 
"  Do  as  you  will,"  Kasyapa  doubtful  said, 
"But  much  I  fear  some  dire  catastrophe." 
Now  mighty  Mara,  spirit  of  the  air, 
The  prince  of  darkness,  roaming  through  the  earth 
Had  found  this  grotto  in  the  sacred  grove, 
And  as  a  Naga  there  kept  nightly  watch 
For  those  who  sought  deliverance  from  his  power, 
Who,  when  the  master  calmly  took  his  seat, 
Belched  forth  a  flood  of  poison,  foul  and  black, 
And  with  hot,  burning  vapors  filled  the  cave. 
But  Buddha  sat  unmoved,  serene  and  calm 
As  Brahma  sits  amid  the  kalpa  fires 
That  burn  the  worlds  but  cannot  harm  his  heaven. 
While  Mara,  knowing  Buddha,  fled  amazed 
And  left  the  Naga  coiled  in  Buddha's  bowl.* 
Kasyapa,  terrified,  beheld  the  flames, 
And  when  the  first  faint  rays  of  dawn  appeared 
With  all  his  fearful  followers  sought  the  cave, 
And  found  the  master  not  consumed  to  dust, 
But  full  of  peace,  aglow  with  perfect  love. 
Kasyapa,  full  of  wonder,  joyful  said  : 
"  I,  though  a  master,  have  no  power  like  this 
To  conquer  groveling  lusts  and  evil  beasts." 
Then  Buddha  taught  the  source  of  real  power, 


*  This  is  Asvag-hosha's  version,  but  the  Sanchi  inscriptions  make 
the  Nag-a  or  cobra  rise  up  behind  Buddha  and  extend  its  hood  over  his 
head  as  a  shelter. 


THE   BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VIII.  151 

The  power  of  love  to  fortify  the  soul, 

Until  Kasyapa  gathered  all  his  stores, 

His  sacred  vessels,  sacrificial  robes, 

And  cast  them  in  the  Phalgu  passing  near. 

His  brothers  saw  them  floating1  down  the  stream, 

And   winged   with    fear  made  haste  to  learn  the 

cause. 

They  too  the  master  saw,  and  heard  his  words, 
And  all  convinced  received  the  perfect  law, 
And  with  their  followers  joined  the  Buddha's  band. 

The  days  pass  on,  and  in  the  bamboo-grove 
A  great  vihara  as  by  magic  rose, 
Built  by  the  king-  for  Buddha's  growing-  band, 
A  spacious  hall  where  all  mig-ht  hear  his  words, 
And  little  cells  where  each  might  take  his  rest, 
A  school  and  rest-house  through  the  summer  rains. 

But  soon  the  monsoons  from  the  distant  seas 
Bring  gathering  clouds  to  veil  the  brazen  sky, 
While  nimble  lightnings  dart  their  blinding  flames, 
And  rolling  thunders  shake  the  trembling  hills, 
And   heaven's   downpourings    drench    the   thirsty 

earth  — 

The  master's  seed-time  when  the  people  rest. 
For  now  the  sixty  from  their  distant  fields 
Have  gathered  in  to  trim  their  lamps  afresh 
And  learn  new  wisdom  from  the  master's  lips  — 
All  but  brave  Purna  on  the  Tartar  steppes 
Where  summer  is  the  fittest  time  for  toil, 
When  India's  rains  force  India's  sons  to  rest. 


152  THE  DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

The  new  vihara  and  the  bamboo-grove 

King-  Bimbasara  to  the  master  gave, 

Where  day  by  day  he  taught  his  growing1  school, 

While  rills,  grown  torrents,  leap  from  rock  to  rock, 

And  Phalgu's  swollen  stream  sweeps  down  the  vale. 

That  Saraputra  after  called  the  Great 
Had  seen  these  new-come  youths  in  yellow  robes 
Passing  from  street  to  street  to  ask  for  alms, 
Receiving-  coarsest  food  with  g-entle  thanks  — 
Had  seen  them  meet  the  poor  and  sick  and  old 
With  kindly  words  and  ever-helpful  hands  — 
Had  seen  them  passing-  to  the  bamboo-grove 
Joyful  as  bridegrooms  soon  to  meet  their  brides. 
He,  Vashpa  and  Asvajit  met  one  day, 
Whom  he  had  known  beneath  the  banyan-tree, 
Two  of  the  five  who  first  received  the  law, 
Now  clothed  in  yellow,  bearing-  beg-g-ing--bowls, 
And  asked  their  doctrine,  who  their  master  was, 
That  they  seemed  joyful,  while  within  the  grove 
All  seemed  so  solemn,  self-absorbed  and  sad. 
They  bade  him  come  and  hear  the  master's  words, 
And  when  their  bowls  were  filled,  he  followed  them, 
And  heard  the  living-  truth  from  Buddha's  lips, 
And  said  :     "  The  sun  of  wisdom  has  arisen. 
What  further  need  of  our  poor  flickering-  lamps  ?" 
And  with  Mug-allan  joined  the  master's  band. 

And  now  five  strang-ers  from  the  Tartar  steppes, 
Strangers  in  form  and  features,  language,  dress, 
Guided  by  one  as  strange  in  dress  as  the}', 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VIII.  153 

Weary  and  foot-sore,  passed  within  the  gates 

Of  Rajagriha,  while  the  rising1  sun 

Was  still  concealed  behind  the  vulture-peak, 

A  laughing-stock  to  all  the  idle  crowd, 

Whom     noisy     children     followed     through     the 

streets 

As  thoughtless  children  follow  what  is  strange, 
Until  they  met  the  master  asking  alms, 
Who  with  raised  hand  and  gentle,  mild  rebuke 
Hushed  into  silence  all  their  noisy  mirth. 
"  These  are  our  brothers,"  Buddha  mildly  said. 
"  Weary  and  worn  they  come  from  distant  lands, 
And  ask  for  kindness  —  not  for  mirth  and  jeers." 
They  knew  at  once  that  calm,  majestic  face, 
That  voice  as  sweet  as  Brahma's,  and  those  eyes 
Beaming  with  tender,  all-embracing  love, 
Of  which,  while  seated  round  their  argol  fires 
In  their  black  tents,  brave  Purna  loved  to  tell, 
And  bowed  in  worship  at  the  master's  feet. 
He  bade  them  rise,  and  learned  from  whence  they 

came, 

And  led  them  joyful  to  the  bamboo-grove, 
Where  some  brought  water  from  the  nearest  stream 
To  bathe  their  festered  feet  and  weary  limbs, 
While  some  brought  food  and  others  yellow  robes  — 
Fitter  for  India's  heat  than  skins  and  furs  — 
All  welcoming  their  new-found  friends  who  came 
From  distant  lands,  o'er  desert  wastes  and  snows, 
To  see  the  master,  hear  the  perfect  law, 
And  bring  the  message  noble  Purna  sent. 


154  THE  DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

The  months  pass  on  ;  the  monsoons  cease  to  blow, 
The  thunders  cease  to  roll,  the  rains  to  pour ; 
The  earth,  refreshed,  is  clothed  with  living  green, 
And  flowers  burst  forth  where  all  was  parched  and 

bare, 

And  bus}r  toil  succeeds  long"  days  of  rest. 
The  time  for  mission  work  has  come. 
The  brethren,  now  to  many  hundreds  grown, 
Where'er  the  master  thought  it  best  were  sent. 
The  strongest  and  the  bravest  volunteered 
To  answer  Purna's  earnest  call  for  help, 
And  clothed  in  fitting  robes  for  piercing  cold 
They  scale  the  mountains,  pass  the  desert  wastes, 
Their  guide  familiar  with  their  terrors  grown  ; 
While  some  return  to  their  expectant  flocks, 
And  some  are  sent  to  kindred  lately  left, 
And  some  to  strangers  dwelling  near  or  far  — 
All  bearing  messages  of  peace  and  love  — 
Until  but  few  in  yellow  robes  remain, 
And  single  footfalls  echo  through  that  hall 
Where  large  assemblies  heard  the  master's  words. 
A  few  are  left,  not  yet  confirmed  in  faith  ; 
And  those  five  brothers  from  the  distant  north 
Remain  to  learn  the  sacred  tongue  and  lore, 
While  Saraputra  and  Kasyapa  stay 
To  aid  the  master  in  his  special  work. 

From  far  Kosala,  rich  Sudata  came, 
Friend  of  the  destitute  and  orphans  called. 
In  houses  rich,  and  rich  in  lands  and  gold,  . 
But  richer  far  in  kind  and  gracious  acts, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VIII.  155 

Who  stopped  in  Rajagriha  with  a  friend. 

But  when  he  learned  a  Buddha  dwelt  so  near, 

And  heard  the  gracious  doctrine  he  proclaimed, 

That  very  night  he  sought  the  bamboo-grove, 

While  roofs  and  towers  were  silvered  by  the  moon, 

And  silent  streets  in  deepest  shadows  lay, 

And  bamboo-plumes  seemed  waving-  silver  sprays, 

And  on  the  ground  the  trembling1  shadows  played. 

Humble  in  mind  but  great  in  gracious  deeds, 

Of  earnest  purpose  but  of  simple  heart, 

The  master  saw  in  him  a  vessel  fit 

For  righteousness,  and  bade  him  stay  and  learn 

His  rules  of  grace  that  bring  Nirvana's  rest. 

And  first  of  all  the  gracious  master  said  : 

"  This  restless  nature  and  this  selfish  world 

Is  all  a  phantasy  and  empty  show  ; 

Its  life  is  lust,  its  end  is  pain  and  death. 

Waste  not  your  time  in  speculations  deep 

Of  whence  and  why.    One  thing  we  surely  know: 

Each  living  thing  must  have  a  living  cause, 

And  mind  from  mind  and  not  from  matter  springs  ; 

While  love,  which  like  an  endless  golden  chain 

Binds  all  in  one,  is  love  in  every  link, 

Up  from  the  sparrow's  nest,  the  mother's  heart, 

Through  all  the  heavens   to   Brahma's  boundless 

love. 

And  lusts  resisted,  daily  duties  done, 
Unite  our  lives  to  that  unbroken  chain 
Which  draws  us  up  to  heaven's  eternal  rest." 
And  through  the  night  they  earnestly  communed, 
Until  Sudata  saw  the  living  truth 


156  THE   DAWN  AND  THE   DAY,  OR 

In  rising-  splendor,  like  the  morning  sun, 

And  doubts  and  errors  all  are  swept  away 

As  gathering1  clouds  are  swept  by  autumn's  winds. 

Bowing  in  reverence,  Sudata  said  : 
"  I  know  the  Buddha  never  seeks  repose, 
But  gladly  toils  to  give  to  others  rest. 

0  that  my  people,  now  in  darkness  sunk, 
Might  see  the  light  and  hear  the  master's  words  I 

1  dwell  in  King  Pasenit's  distant  realm  — 
A  king  renowned,  a  country  fair  and  rich  — 
And  yearn  to  build  a  great  vihara  there." 
The  master,  knowing  well  Sudata's  heart 
And  his  unselfish  charity,  replied  : 

"  Some  give  in  hope  of  greater  gifts  returned  ; 

Some  give  to  gain  a  name  for  charity  ; 

Some  give  to  gain  the  rest  and  joy  of  heaven, 

Some  to  escape  the  woes  and  pains  of  hell. 

Such  giving  is  but  selfishness  and  greed, 

But  he  who  gives  without  a  selfish  thought 

Has  entered  on  the  noble  eightfold  path, 

Is  purified  from  anger,  envy,  hate. 

The  bonds  of  pain  and  sorrow  are  unloosed  ; 

The  way  to  rest  and  final  rescue  found. 

Let  your  hands  do  what  your  kind  heart  desires." 

Hearing  this  answer,  he  departs  with  joy, 
And  Buddha  with  him  Saraputra  sent. 
Arriving"  home,  he  sought  a  pleasant  spot, 
And  found  the  garden  of  Pasenit's  son, 
And  sought  the  prince,  seeking  to  buy  the  ground. 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THK  CHRIST — BOOK  VIII.  157 

But  he  refused  to  sell,  yet  said  in  jest : 

"  Cover  the  grove  with  gold,  the  ground  is  yours." 

Forthwith  Sudata  spread  his  yellow  coin. 

But  Gata  said,  caught  by  his  thoughtless  jest : 

"  Spread  not  your  gold — I  will  not  sell  the  ground." 

"  Not  sell  the  ground  ?"     Sudata  sharply  said, 

"  Why  then  said  you,  '  Fill  it  with  yellow  gold'?" 

And  both  contending  sought  a  magistrate. 

But  Gata,  knowing  well  his  earnestness, 

Asked  why  he  sought  the  ground  ;  and  when  he 

learned, 

He  said:     "  Keep  half  your  gold  ;  the  land  is  yours, 
But  mine  the  trees,  and  jointly  we  will  build 
A  great    vihara  for  the  Buddha's  use." 
The  work  begun  was  pressed  both  night  and  day  ; 
Lofty  it  rose,  in  just  proportions  built, 
Fit  for  the  palace  of  a  mighty  king. 
The  people  saw  this  great  vihara  rise, 
A  stately  palace  for  a  foreign  prince, 
And  said  in  wonder  :    ' '  What  strange  thing  is  this  ? 
Our  king  to  welcome  thus  a  foreign  king 
To  new-made  palaces,  and  not  with  war 
And  bloody  spears  and  hands  to  new-made  graves, 
As  was  his  father's  wont  in  times  gone  by  ?" 
Yet  all  went  forth  to  meet  this  coming  prince, 
And  see  a  foreign  monarch's  royal  pomp, 
But  heard  no  trumpeting  of  elephants, 
Nor  martial  music,  nor  the  neigh  of  steeds, 
But  saw  instead  a  little  band  draw  near 
In  yellow  robes,  with  dust  and  travel-stained  ; 
But  love,  that  like  a  holy  halo  crowned 


158  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

That  dusty  leader's  calm,  majestic  brow, 

Hushed  into  silence  every  rising1  sneer. 

And  when  Sudata  met  this  weary  band, 

And  to  the  prince's  garden  led  their  way, 

They  followed  on,  their  hands  in  reverence  joined, 

To  where  the  stately  new  vihara  rose, 

Enbowered  in  giant  trees  of  every  kind 

That  India's  climate  grows,  while  winding  streams 

Along  their  flowery  banks  now  quiet  flow, 

Now  leap  from  rocks,  now  spread  in  shining  pools 

With  lotuses  and  lilies  overspread, 

While  playing  fountains  with  their  falling"  spray 

Spread  grateful  coolness,  and  a  blaze  of  bloom 

From  myriad  opening-  flowers  perfumes  the  air, 

And  myriad  birds  that  sought  this  peaceful  spot 

Burst  forth  in  every  sweet  and  varied  song 

That  India's  fields  and  groves  and  gardens  know. 

And  there  Sudata  bowed  on  bended  knee, 

And  from  a  golden  pitcher  water  poured, 

The  sign  and  sealing  of  their  gift  of  love 

Of  this  vihara,  Gatavana  called, 

A  school  and  rest-house  for  the  Buddha's  use, 

And  for  the  brotherhood  throughout  the  world. 

Buddha  received  it  with  the  fervent  prayer 

That  it  might  give  the  kingdom  lasting  peace. 

Unlike  Sudata's  self,  Sudata's  king 
Believed  religion  but  a  comely  cloak 
To  hide  besetting  sins  from  public  view, 
And  sought  the  master  in  his  new  retreat 
To  talk  religion  and  to  act  a  part, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VIII.  159 

And  greetings  ended,  said  in  solemn  wise  : 

"Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown  ; 

But  my  poor  kingdom  now  is  doubly  blest 

In  one  whose  teaching's  purify  the  soul 

And  give  the  highest  and  the  humblest  rest, 

As  all  are  cleansed  who  bathe  in  Rapti's  stream." 

But  Buddha  saw  through  all  this  outer  show 

His  real  purposes  and  inner  life  : 

The  love  of  pleasure  blighting  hig-h  resolve, 

The  love  of  money,  root  of  every  ill, 

That  sends  its  poison  fibers  through  the  soul 

And  saps  its  life  and  wastes  its  vital  strength. 

"  The  Tathagata  only  shows  the  way 

To  purity  and  rest,"  the  master  said. 

"  There  is  a  way  to  darkness  out  of  light, 

There  is  a  way  to  light  from  deepest  gloom. 

They  only  gain  the  goal  who  keep  the  way. 

Harsh  words  and  evil  deeds  to  sorrow  lead 

As  sure  as  shadows  on  their  substance  wait. 

For  as  we  sow,  so  also  shall  we  reap. 

Boast  not  o'ermuch  of  kingly  dignity. 

A  king  most  needs  a  kind  and  loving  heart 

To  love  his  subjects  as  an  only  son, 

To  aid  —  not  injure,  comfort  —  not  oppress, 

Their  help,  protector,  father,  friend  and  guide. 

Such  kings  shall  live  beloved  and  die  renowned, 

Whose  works  shall  welcome  them  to  heavenly  rest." 

The  king,  convicted,  heard  his  solemn  words 

That  like  an  arrow  pierced  his  inmost  life. 

To  him  religion  ceased  to  be  a  show 

Of  chants  and  incense,  empty  forms  and  creeds, 


160  THE   DAWN   AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

But  stood  a  living-  presence  in  his  way 
To  check  his  blind  and  headlong1  downward  course, 
And  lead  him  to  the  noble  eightfold  path, 
That  day  by  day  and  step  by  step  shall  lead 
To  purity  and  peace  and  heavenly  rest. 

Kapilavastu's  king1,  Suddhodana, 
His  step  grown  feeble,  snowy  white  his  hair, 
By  cares  oppressed  and  sick  with  hope  deferred, 
For  eight  long-  years  had  waited  for  his  son. 
But  sweet  Yasodhara,  in  widow's  weeds, 
Her  love  by  sorrow  only  purified 
As  fire  refines  the  g-old  by  dross  debased, 
Thoug-h  tender  memories  bring  unbidden  tears, 
Wasted  no  time  in  morbid,  selfish  grief, 
But  sought  in  care  for  others  her  own  cure. 
Both  son  and  daughter  to  the  aged  king, 
She  aids  with  counsels,  soothes  with  tender  care. 
Father  and  mother  to  her  little  son, 
She  lavishes  on  him  a  double  love. 
And  oft  on  mercy's  missions  going  forth, 
Shunning-  the  pomp  and  show  of  royal  state, 
Leading  Rahula,  prattling-  by  her  side, 
The  people  saw  her  pass  with  swelling  hearts, 
As  if  an  angel  clothed  in  human  form. 

And  now  strange  rumors  reach  the  public  ear, 
By  home-bound  pilgrims  from  Benares  brought 
And  merchantmen  from  Rajagriha  come, 
That  there  a  holy  rishi  had  appeared 
Whom  all  believed  a  very  living  Buddh, 


THE    BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VIII.          1H1 

While  king's  and  peoples  followed  after  him. 
These  rumors  reached  the  sweet  Yasodhara, 
And  stirred  these  musings  in  her  watchful  heart  : 
"  Stately  and  tall  they  say  this  rishi  is, 
Gentle  to  old  and  young1,  to  rich  and  poor, 
And  filled  with  love  for  .every  living-  thing-. 
But  who  so  g-entle,  stately,  tall  and  grand 
As  my  Siddartha  ?     Who  so  full  of  love  ? 
And  he  has  found  the  light  Siddartha  soug-ht  ! 
It  must  be  he  — my  own,  my  best  beloved  ! 
And  surely  he  will  hither  come,  and  bring- 
To  his  poor  people,  now  in  darkness  sunk, 
That  living-  light  he  left  his  home  to  seek." 

As  the  same  sun  that  makes  the  cedars  grow 
And  sends  their  vital  force  through  giant  oaks, 
Clothes  'fields  with  green  and  decks  the  wayside 

flower, 

And  crowns  the  autumn  with  its  golden  fruits, 
So  that  same  love  which  swept  through  Buddha's 

soul 

And  drove  him  from  his  home  to  seek  and  save, 
Warmed  into  brighter  glow  each  lesser  love 
Of  home  and  people,  father,  wife  and  child,* 
And  often  through  those  long  and  troubled  years 

*  Some  Buddhists  teach  that  Buddha  had  conquered  all  human  af 
fections,  and  even  enter  into  apologies  for  a  show  of  affection  for  his 
wife,  one  of  the  most  elaborate  of  which  Arnold,  in  the  "  Light  of  Asia," 
puts  into  his  own  mouth  ;  but  this  is  no  more  like  the  teaching's  of 
Buddha  than  the  doctrine  of  infant  damnation  is  like  the  teachings  of 
Him  who  said  :  "  Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid 
them  not  ;  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God." 


162  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

He  felt  a  burning-  long-ing  to  return. 

And  now,  when  summer  rains  had  ceased  to  fall, 

And  his  disciples  were  again  sent  forth, 

Both  love  and  duty  with  united  voice 

Bade  him  revisit  his  beloved  home, 

And  Saraputra  and  Kasyapa  joined 

The  master  wending  on  his  homeward  way, 

While  light-winged  rumor  bore  Yasodhara 

This  joyful  news  :     "  The  holy  rishi  comes." 

Without  the  southern  gate  a  garden  lay, 
Lumbini  called,  by  playing  fountains  cooled, 
With  shaded  walks  winding  by  banks  of  flowers, 
Whose  mingled  odors  load  each  passing  breeze. 
Thither  Yasodhara  was  wont  to  go, 
For  there  her  lord  and  dearest  love  was  born, 
And  there  they  passed  full  many  happy  days. 
The  southern  road  skirted  this  garden's  wall, 
While  on  the  other  side  were  suburb  huts 
Where  toiling  poor  folk  and  the  base-born  dwell. 
And  near  this  wall  a  bright  pavilion  rose, 
Whence  she  could  see  each  passer  by  the  way. 
One  morning,  after  days  of  patient  watch, 
She  saw  approach  along  this  dusty  road 
Three  seeming  pilgrims,  clothed  in  yellow  robes, 
Presenting  at  each  humble  door  their  bowls 
For  such  poor  food  as  these  poor  folk  could  give. 
As  they  drew  near,  a  growing  multitude, 
From  every  cottage  swelled,  followed  their  steps, 
Gazing  with  awe  upon  the  leader's  face, 
While  each  to  his  companion  wondering  said  : 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THB  CHRIST— BOOK  VIII.          163 

"  Who  ever  saw  a  rishi  such  as  this, 

Who  calls  us  brothers,  whom  the  Brahmans  scorn  ?  " 

But  sweet  Yasodhara,  with  love's  quick  sight, 

Knew  him  she  waited  for,  and  forth  she  rushed, 

Crying- :     "  Siddartha,  O  my  love  !  my  lord  !  " 

And  prostrate  in  the  dust  she  clasped  his  feet. 

He  gently  raised  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart 

In  one  most  tender,  loving,  long  embrace. 

By  that  embrace  her  every  heartache  cured, 

She  calmly  said  :     "  Give  me  a  humble  part 

In  your  great  work,  for  though  my  hands  are  weak 

My  heart  is  strong,  and  my  weak  hands  can  bear 

The  cooling  cup  to  fever's  burning  lips  ; 

My  mother's  heart  has  more  than  room  enough 

For  many  outcasts,  many  helpless  waifs." 

And  there  in  presence  of  that  base-born  throng, 

Who  gazed  with  tears  and  wonder  on  the  scene, 

And  in  a  higher  presence,  who  can  doubt 

He  made  her  first  of  that  great  sisterhood, 

Since  through  the  ages  known  in  every  land, 

Who  gently  raise  the  dying  soldier's  head, 

Where  cruel  war  is  mangling  human  limbs  ; 

Who  smooth  the  pillow,  bathe  the  burning  brow 

Of  sick  and  helpless  strangers  taken  in  ; 

Whose  tender  care  has  made  the  orphans'  home, 

For  those  poor  waifs  who  know  no  mother's  love. 

Then  toward  the  palace  they  together  went 

To  their  Rahula  and  the  aged  king, 

While  streets  were  lined  and  doors  and  windows 

filled 
With  eager  gazers  at  the  prince  returned 


164  THE  DAWN  AND  THE  DAY,  OR 

In  coarsest  robes,  with  closely  shaven  head, 
Returned  a  Buddha  who  went  forth  a  prince. 

Through  all  these  troubled,  weary,  waiting-  years, 
The  king-  still  hoped  to  see  his  son  return 
In  royal  state,  with  king's  for  waiting-men, 
To  rule  a  willing  world  as  king-  of  kings. 
But  now  that  son  enters  his  palace-gates 
In  coarsest  beggar-garb,  his  alms-bowl  filled 
With  Sudras'  leavings  for  his  daily  food. 
The  king  with  mingled  grief  and  anger  said  : 
"  Is  this  the  end  of  all  our  cherished  hopes. 
The  answer  to  such  lofty  prophecies, 
To  see  the  heir  of  many  mighty  kings 
Enter  his  kingdom  like  a  beggar-tramp  ? 
This  the  return  for  all  the  patient  love 
Of  sweet  Yasodhara,  and  this  the  way 
To  teach  his  duty  to  your  royal  son  ?" 
The  prince  with  reverence  kissed  his  father's  hand. 
Bent  loving  eyes  upon  his  troubled  brow 
That  banished  all  bis  bitterness  and  said  : 
"  How  hard  it  is  to  give  up  cherished  hopes 
I  know  full  well.     I  know  a  father's  love. 
Your  love  for  me  I  for  Rahul  a  feel, 
And  who  can  better  know  that  deepest  love 
Whose  tendrils  round  my  very  heartstrings  twine  ! 
But  crores  of  millions,  with  an  equal  love, 
Fathers  and  mothers,  children,  husbands,  wives, 
In  doubt  and  darkness  groping  blindly  on, 
Cry  out  for  help.     Not  lack  of  love  for  you, 
Or  my  Rahula  or  Yasodhara, 


THE  BUDDHA  AND  THE  CHRIST — BOOK  VIII.          165 

But  love  for  them  drove  me  to  leave  my  home. 

The  greatest  kingdoms  are  like  ocean's  foam, 

A  moment  white  upon  the  crested  wave. 

The  longest  life  is  but  a  passing-  dream, 

Whose  changing1  scenes  but  fill  a  moment's  space. 

But  these  poor  souls  shall  live  in  joy  or  woe 

While  nations  rise  and  fall  and  kalpas  pass, 

And  this  proud  city  crumbles  to  decay 

Till  antiquarians  search  its  site  in  vain, 

And  beasts  shall  burrow  where  this  palace  stands. 

Not  for  the  pleasures  of  a  passing-  day, 

Like  shadows  flitting-  ere  you  point  their  place, 

Not  for  the  transient  g-lories  of  a  king-, 

Now  clothed  in  scarlet  but  to-morrow  dust, 

Can  I  forg-et  those  loving-,  living-  souls, 

Groping-  in  darkness,  vainly  asking-  help." 

And  then  he  showed  the  noble  eightfold  path 

From  life's  low  levels  to  Nirvana's  heig-hts, 

While  king-  and  people  on  the  master  g-azed, 

Whose  face,  beaming-  with  pure,  unselfish  love, 

Transfig-ured  seemed  ;  and  many  noble  youth, 

And  chief  Ananda,  the  Beloved  called, 

Forsook  their  g-ay  companions  and  the  round 

Of  youthful  sports,  and  joined  the  master's  band. 

And  as  he  spoke,  crores  more  than  mortals  saw 

Gathered  to  hear,  and  King-  Suddhodana 

And  sweet  Yasodhara  entered  the  path. 


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